


Songbirds Don't Sing "Candles"

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Category: Glee
Genre: And Bird-Related Stuff, Birds, Blazer-Free Zone, But Not Particularly Blaine Unfriendly, Comedy, Crack, IDK Some People Just Don't Like Birds, Kurt OT3 Bang, M/M, Magical Realism, No Klaine, OT3, Overhearing Sex, Past Finn/Quinn, Past Puck/Lauren, Pavarotti Doesn't Die, Platonic Blaine Anderson & Kurt Hummel, So We're Warning For Birds, The Bird Is Alive, Threesome - M/M/M, warblers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some birds don't belong in a cage, no matter how well-meaning the Warblers are. Kurt and Pavarotti share a similar fate at Dalton; Kurt may be wearing a blazer, while Pavarotti has a blanket over his cage, but both are kept from singing and both of them desperately need to spread their wings and take to the sky again. Puck and Finn assist Kurt in executing a bird heist and transferring back to McKinley, just in time for regionals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songbirds Don't Sing "Candles"

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Kurt OT3 Bang 2014. Our beta was the fantastic david_of_oz, without whom our fic would be rife with typos and inconsistencies, probably.
> 
> [Cover art by Firefox](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1604465/chapters/3414926).

Kurt looks up from his nails, his whistle slowly fading away as he looks at Pavarotti. “You look sad,” he whispers to the bird, not wanting anyone else in his family to overhear him talking to a bird. “I could just be projecting, of course, but you seem to need cheering up.” Kurt unhooks the door to the cage and lets Pavarotti hop out onto his hand, and this time when Kurt whistles, Pavarotti chirps back.

“Needed some freedom?"

Pavarotti trills, like he's agreeing with Kurt, and Kurt laughs. "Well, I suppose you can fly around in here," he offers. "Just don't fly at my dad. And of course at school you'll have to stay in your cage."

Pavarotti hops to the windowsill, chirping and trilling, and Kurt continues with his afternoon, periodically whistling with the little bird. Kurt even lets Pavarotti fly freely in his room overnight, only putting him back in the cage when it’s time to head to school. The cage suddenly looks too small for Pavarotti, and Kurt eyes it critically between classes. 

“Is everything okay with Pavarotti?” Wes asks, falling into step beside Kurt. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure he’s fine,” Kurt answers, managing a small smile, the one he’s started privately calling his Dalton smile. “I was just thinking that perhaps he would like out of the cage for a bit.” 

“It does seem cruel,” Wes says, nodding, “but really, he wouldn’t thrive if he was let to fly free. It’s like Dalton itself. We the students do better with the uniforms and the handbook and the rules.” He pats Kurt’s shoulder and continues down the hall, and Kurt waves before looking at Pavarotti. 

“You seemed to enjoy life outside the cage just fine,” he murmurs quietly to Pavarotti, who trills once before falling silent. Kurt thinks about what Wes said, but it doesn’t seem like it’s harming Pavarotti to fly in the house, so he continues to let him out inside his room, and the two of them whistle back and forth. 

After another week passes, Kurt starts singing to Pavarotti, when he’s alone at home or everyone else is downstairs. Pavarotti chirps encouragingly and seems to enjoy it, and Kurt has some private amusement over choosing bird-related songs. 

When the weekend comes around again, Kurt lets Pavarotti out on Friday evening, planning to let him fly around until Monday morning, and on Saturday afternoon, Kurt starts singing to him once more. 

“How about some Beatles?” Kurt asks him first, and Pavarotti trills a little, and Kurt nods before starting to sing. 

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
 _Take these broken wings and learn to fly_  
 _All your life_  
 _You were only waiting for this moment to arise._

When he pauses, Pavarotti chirps once, and Kurt smothers a laugh before continuing. 

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
 _Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_  
 _All your life_  
 _You were only waiting for this moment to be free._

Kurt keeps singing, not really paying attention to anything else, but when he stops, Pavarotti doesn’t make a single noise, just flies to the top of the vanity mirror before staring at the door. He blinks once, looks back at Pavarotti, then at the door, where, yes, Finn and Puck are in fact standing. 

“May I help you?” he asks with a sigh when neither of them says anything. 

Puck looks at Finn and then nudges Finn’s side, nodding a little like he’s expecting Finn to speak. Finn doesn’t say anything, and Puck nudges him again. “Dude,” he hisses. “You gotta tell him we weren’t, like, spying or anything.”

“Can he say ‘Finn’?” Finn asks. 

Kurt narrows his eyes, then looks over at Puck, hoping Puck can explain the question. Puck shrugs, and Kurt looks back at Finn. “Are you asking me if Pavarotti can say your name?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yeah. I mean, that’s my name,” Finn says.

“Pavarotti doesn’t talk, Finn,” Kurt says, shaking his head slightly. “Was there something else?”

Puck elbows Finn again, harder this time. “Oh, yeah. Uh, we weren’t spying, like Puck said,” Finn says. “Just, you sing kinda loud.”

“I wasn’t aware anyone else was upstairs. I apologize for disturbing you,” Kurt says, somewhat stiffly, then stops and tilts his head, looking at the two of them again. “Wait, what? Spying?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “I figured you were singing your songs for Regionals.”

Kurt snorts, a little bit of bitterness leaking into his voice. “Not hardly. I would be happy with the traditional New Directions largesse of solo-sharing by comparison.” 

“Huh?” Puck says. “What’s a ‘largesse’?”

“There’s only one soloist in the Warblers,” Kurt explains, “and I most definitely am not that person.”

“And the one who is is the largest?” Finn asks. 

“That’s a weird way to decide who’s getting the solos,” Puck says, then looks at Finn and grins. 

Kurt starts to giggle, slapping his hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, I’m not laughing,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and takes several deep breaths before removing his hand. “I hardly think I’m giving away competition strategy when I tell you the featured soloist is the same as at the last competition.”

“Maybe that’s really Schue’s method, though,” Puck says quietly.

“Maybe his method is the largest _and_ the smallest,” Finn muses. “It’s like a two-for-one thing.”

Kurt sighs. “It might explain it, but no, I was just singing to Pavarotti. He doesn’t really like staying in his cage so much. And I certainly don’t have any major part in Regionals next week.”  
“I don’t think the bird likes me,” Puck announces, giving Pavarotti a sideways glance. “He keeps staring.”

“Can you teach him to say bad words?” Finn asks. 

“No,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “He only sings.” Kurt whistles a few notes, and Pavarotti looks at Finn and Puck before trilling in response. “See?”

“But he’s a pet bird,” Finn insists. 

“He’s a canary, not a… parrot or whatever birds talk,” Kurt says. 

“Can you trade him in for a parrot?” Puck asks. “’Cause that’d be cool. He could go to your classes for you and repeat your assignments later.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” Finn says. “I thought all pet birds talked, though. Otherwise, what’s the point of a pet bird?” Puck nods a couple of times, looking at Kurt expectantly.

“Not canaries,” Kurt says with a shake of his head. “You’re welcome to try to get him to talk, though.”

“Maybe I can borrow him for a little while,” Finn says.

“Maybe he just speaks something that’s not English?” Puck suggests, holding his hand out flat like he’s considering calling a dog to him.

“Bird?” Kurt says dryly. “Hold out just one finger, he’s not a bald eagle or anything.”

“I bet birds speak German,” Finn says.

“Yiddish, maybe,” Puck offers, but he does close his fist, leaving just one finger out. Pavarotti studies it for a few moments before flying over and landing. Puck winces. “He still has sharp little talons, dude.” 

“You’re a wimp,” Kurt proclaims. “Fine, take Pavarotti. Don’t let him fly around the entire house, though. Just your room, Finn.”

“I’ll let you know if we figure out what language,” Finn says, gesturing for Puck to follow him as he starts to leave the room. 

“An excellent idea,” Kurt says, nodding a little as Puck follows Finn, holding the finger with Pavarotti well away from his body. 

“Or if he poops,” Puck offers over his shoulder. 

Kurt rolls his eyes and gets up off his bed, walking to the doorway to watch them disappear into Finn’s room. He waits until the door shuts before sitting back on his bed, thinking about the conversation regarding solos, and Wes’s words earlier in the week about the uniform and the rules and Pavarotti’s cage. 

Periodically throughout the rest of the afternoon, Kurt hears the occasional laughter, some exclamations of ‘ew!’, and various languages he doesn’t quite recognize. Pavarotti doesn’t whistle or make any other sign of distress, though Kurt’s not sure what a canary in distress sounds like, and Kurt resolves to make a suggestion during Monday’s Warblers meeting, as well as to talk to Blaine afterwards. 

 

The Warblers meeting goes far worse than Kurt could have imagined. When he suggests a more equitable division of solos, especially considering David’s point about the song not being Blaine’s natural key, Trent yells “How dare you? How dare you, Kurt Warbler?” before continuing to rant, most of which Kurt manages to tune out. Two other junior members seem to tentatively agree with Kurt, but the rest of the Warblers do not, and none of them will even look at Kurt as everyone files from the room. The two sympathetic members give Kurt small smiles, and Kurt hangs back to wait on Blaine. 

“Blaine?” he finally says quietly. 

“Yes, Kurt?” Blaine replies, still looking slightly wounded from the meeting. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“You know I’m not criticizing your singing,” Kurt says. “It’s wonderful. Just like you.” 

Blaine seems somewhat mollified by the compliment, giving Kurt a smile. “I just want what’s best for the Warblers as a whole,” he says. 

“Even as imbalanced as New Directions can be, they still find ways to—” Kurt pauses, trying to make his point without outright lying about his old glee club. “To encourage others that solos might at least be possible in the future,” he finishes. “That, I suppose, was part of my point. Regardless, I had another question for you.”

“Oh?” Blaine eyebrows knit together in a charming display of giving Kurt his full attention. 

“I know Friday night’s the night before the competition, so no one can be out too late,” Kurt begins, “and I know it’s a little obscure, but there’s a documentary festival and a few of them looked interesting, so I thought we could pick one and go.” Kurt pauses and nervously runs his tongue over his lips, knowing he’s rambling, but he’s never asked anyone on a date before, not really. “I mean, would you like to go see a documentary with me on Friday night?”

“Sure, that would be fun,” Blaine says. “You should tell Wes about it. He loves documentaries. It could be a Warbler team-bonding night!”

“Oh.” Kurt frowns and takes a deep breath as he collects his thoughts. “No. As a date. I meant as a date.”

“Oh!” Blaine’s eyebrows rise up towards his hairline. “Kurt, you know I care about you, I care about you a _lot_ , just… as a friend.”

“I’m not asking for anything but one date,” Kurt says, keeping his voice as even as possible, but when Pavarotti chirps, he takes the opportunity to look away from Blaine briefly. 

“We’ve becoming such good friends. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that,” Blaine replies. Kurt looks back at Blaine, whose eyebrows are knit together again, an insincere attempt to make Kurt feel like he’s getting Blaine’s full consideration. 

“I see.” Kurt manages a tight smile, even smaller than his usual Dalton smile. “Of course. Well, Pavarotti and I have a long drive home ahead of us, now.”

“Drive safely,” Blaine says, returning the strained smile. “Don’t speed!”

“Thanks,” Kurt says, turning and leaving the room as quickly as he can without appearing to run. As soon as he reaches the Navigator, he sets Pavarotti in the passenger seat and locks the doors. “We’re going to give them a fake-you,” he tells Pavarotti, who chirps and looks at the door on his cage. “No, you can’t fly around while I’m driving!”

When he gets home, he doesn’t say anything to his dad immediately, but after dinner, he knocks lightly on Finn’s doorframe. “Finn?” 

Finn looks up from his computer. “Hey, Kurt. What’s up?”

“May I come in? Even though I don’t have any warm milk with me?” 

“Yeah, great! I mean, sure, you don’t need milk.”

“Thanks.” Kurt smiles and slips in the room, closing the door and taking a deep breath as the smile falls from his face. “Will you lie for me?”

“Sure,” Finn says, then he frowns. “Wait, who am I lying to?”

“My dad.” Kurt starts to slowly pace the length of Finn’s bed. “I need him to think that David Karofsky has been… neutralized, for lack of a better term.” 

“You want me to kill Karofsky?” Finn asks. “And then lie about it?”

“What? No!” Kurt exclaims. “I just want to go back to McKinley!”

“So, you don’t need me to kill Karofsky?”

“I, um.” Kurt frowns, wondering what, exactly, Finn would do if he said yes. “No. I don’t need anyone killed.” He pauses again, then clarifies, “At this time. I just need my dad to think it’s safe for me to go back.”

“But I thought you liked it at Warblers Academy,” Finn says.

Kurt fights a smile, shaking his head. “I like being safe. I also happen to like being myself, and that’s not really going to happen there.” He pauses in his pacing and looks at Finn directly. “One of the Warblers told me it wasn’t good for Pavarotti to be out of his cage.” 

“But Pav likes to fly around!” Finn says. 

“I know. Don’t worry, they don’t get Pavarotti back, but then he compared Pavarotti’s cage keeping him safe to the uniforms and rules at Dalton. They may be safe, but I’d rather fly a little,” Kurt says, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I’m going to give them a fake Pavarotti.”

“Don’t you think they’ll notice if he doesn’t move?”

Kurt frowns. “I haven’t had much luck finding a wind-up canary,” he admits. 

“Tell them he died!” Finn says. “We’ll get him a new cage for sleeping, and you can give them back the empty one and tell them he’s dead.”

“Ooh, that could work,” Kurt says. “We could rename him, too. I’m not really a fan of opera.”

“Can we name him Big Bird?”

“Finn, he’s tiny!” Kurt protests. 

Finn lets out an exasperated huff. “But _Kurt_ , Big Bird was a _canary_.”

“But we’re juniors in high school! We can’t have a pet bird named after a muppet,” Kurt says. “What about something more… classic and refined?”

“ _Sir_ Big Bird.”

Kurt stares at Finn for a few long seconds before bursting into laughter. He keeps laughing, imagining people bowing to Pavarotti and addressing him as ‘sir’, and then at the idea of Blaine having go down on a knee before royalty. 

“Uh, Kurt? Are you okay?” Finn asks, sounding concerned. “Don’t you need to breathe or something?”

Kurt stares blankly at Finn, still laughing, not really understanding Finn’s question. “Bowing!” he manages between laughs. “Blaine— knees— crown!”

“Uhhhhh…” 

“Sir!” Kurt gasps, still laughing hard. “King Bird!”

“Uh, is that a… gay… sex, uh.” Finn looks slightly panicked. “Thing? With the crown and the knees?”

Kurt’s face contorts, and he wants to be horrified, but instead he keeps laughing as he shakes his head frantically. “Nooo,” he draws out. “ _Such good friends_ ,” he adds between more laughter, and he realizes now he can’t seem to stop laughing. 

“You and the bird?” Finn asks.

Kurt shakes his head again, trying to talk through the laughter. “Asked— Friday.” Kurt shakes his head more slowly, still laughing, even though nothing is really funny anymore. “Said we’re— good friends.” 

“But you said the bird doesn’t tal— ohhh, you mean Blaine?”

Kurt nods, frowning even while he keeps gasping out laughs. “Not— enough.”

“Uh, Kurt, maybe I should go get _you_ some warm milk or something?” Finn offers. 

“Lie,” Kurt insists. “Everyone should lie.” He takes deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself down.

“I’ll be right back,” Finn says.

“Okay?” Kurt slumps against the side of Finn’s bed, sitting on the floor confused, and he takes long deep breaths while he waits for Finn to return. Kurt loses track of how long he’s been in Finn’s room, but he knows it’s been at least fifteen minutes, and probably longer, before he hears Finn returning. 

“So, I figured we needed backup,” Finn says, entering the room with a glass of milk in one hand, a bowl of what appears to be popcorn in the other, and Puck following closely behind him.

“What?” Kurt asks, blinking and looking between Finn and Puck. “I told you not to actually kill anyone.”

“Dude.” Puck stops and looks at Finn. “I can’t go back to juvie. I can give you some alibi tips or something, but that’s it.”

“We’re not really killing anybody!” Finn says. “Kurt says so!”

“I assume you called Puck here to help with the lying to my dad?” Kurt asks. 

“Yeah, Puck’s the best at lying to parents,” Finn says.

“I really am,” Puck agrees. “We’re not lying about killing anyone though, right? Just— what did you say?” he asks Finn. 

“Lying to Burt about Karofsky being neutralized,” Finn explains. 

“We’re going to chop off his balls?” Puck asks. “That’s… kind of gross and kind of awesome at the same time.” 

“Not neutered!” Kurt says, shaking his head. “I just want my dad to think it’s safe, so I can transfer back.” 

“Oh, cool.” He looks almost thoughtful as he turns to Finn. “Do you think we can lie enough to get him back before Saturday?”

“Dude, we could get him back by _tomorrow_ ,” Finn says. “Except we’ve gotta fake a bird death, too.” 

“Oh, score, you’re stealing Rottie?” Puck asks, grinning. “Awesome.” 

“No, he’s Sir Bird now,” Finn says.

“Huh? You can’t make Rottie a ‘sir’,” Puck says, shaking his head. “He’s like, you know. A street bird.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt says, containing himself after a small giggle leaks out. “I just want to transfer. I gave it one last shot today.” 

“Shot down,” Finn says to Puck, shaking his head in a way that’s probably meant to convey sadness, but that doesn’t actually look particularly sad.

“Aww, that sucks, dude,” Puck says sympathetically. 

“Not just that!” Kurt squawks. “All of it.”

“So what are they singing Saturday?” Puck asks, dropping down on the floor and motioning for Finn to pass him the popcorn.

Kurt sighs. “‘Raise Your Glass’ and ‘Candles’.”

“I thought it was an all-dude school,” Finn says. 

“It is,” Kurt says, frowning at Finn. “Why?”

“Aren’t those both, you know,” Finn says, making some sort of rolling hand gesture. 

“Sung by girls,” Puck finishes, nodding. “That’s a little weird. Not a lot weird!” he adds quickly. “But it’s a little weird.”

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right,” Kurt concedes. “So what are we telling my dad?”

“Keep it simple,” Puck says, almost lecturing. “The more detailed the lie, the more likely it is to fall apart.”

“How about ‘Karofsky’s not a problem anymore’?” Finn suggests.

“He _will_ want more than that,” Kurt says slowly. “Maybe more like… he transferred?” Kurt suggests. 

“Has Burt come by McKinley at all since Kurt transferred?” Puck asks Finn.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Finn says, shrugging. 

“He’s more likely to stop by and check on me if I’m actually there,” Kurt warns. 

“So we just need to make sure we have a codeword or something,” Puck says, getting more enthused with each word. “If someone spots Burt—or Carole, too—we have to make sure Karofsky’s in a different part of the school. Easy.” 

“The codeword should be ‘pudding’,” Finn says.

“Why ‘pudding’?” Kurt asks. “And what if my dad does something simple like _call_ to ask if Karofsky is still enrolled?”

“We can get people from the A/V club to hack Figgins’ phone system!” Puck says, and now he’s definitely overly enthusiastic about all of it. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” Finn agrees. “Who can do a good Figgins impression?”

“We can’t hack the school’s phone system!” Kurt says. 

“Right, _we_ aren’t doing it, the A/V club will,” Puck says as if that’s a perfectly reasonable distinction to be making. “I’m not sure who can do the best impression. Maybe some voice changing stuff from the A/V people.”

“Maybe we can hire an actor from Craig’s List!” Finn says. 

“Oh my god,” Kurt says faintly. “Maybe we just. I don’t know. Tell my dad that Karofsky transferred and hope he doesn’t follow up. Or, or, um. We could pay Karofsky to say he’s changed?” He chooses his words carefully; of course Karofsky wouldn’t have changed, per se, but that’s what he imagines Finn and Puck expect to hear. 

“I don’t have any money,” Finn says. “Do you?”

“Karofsky wouldn’t hold out for _that_ much, would he?” Puck asks. 

“We could pay him off in my mom’s oatmeal cookies,” Finn suggests. 

Puck smiles, nodding slowly. “Those are damn good cookies. Are there any right now?” 

“Focus, please?” Kurt says, sighing. “Could you tell my dad that you haven’t seen Karofsky around for some time? _And_ pay off Karofsky in cookies?”

“They’re awesome cookies,” Finn says. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. Or did you want to tell him you wanted to come back first, and then I can say I haven’t seen him?”

“Definitely wait until Kurt says something. Otherwise it’ll seem rehearsed,” Puck says. “Which, it kind of is. I told my mom I was staying over for video games. That way I can back up the lie when Burt questions Finn, see?” 

“Puck, if only you used your scheming mind for the power of good,” Kurt laments as he stands. “Though I suppose in this case, it’s for the _greater_ good, right? My transferring back?”

“Like Dumbledore’s boyfriend,” Finn says in apparent agreement.

“Huh?” Puck asks, squinting and staring at Finn.

“Yeah, that Grundel guy, or whoever he was. Dumbledore’s boyfriend,” Finn repeats.

“You… analyzed the subtext of Harry Potter?” Kurt says, pausing in the doorway. “That’s impressive, Finn.”

“Uh, I don’t know what that means,” Finn says.

“You saw the relationships that weren’t spelled out specifically,” Kurt explains. “Like with Dumbledore.”

“No, that one was right there in regular text,” Finn says, tilting his head to the side, his confused-puppy look on his face. 

“Tell me who else was doing it while Kurt goes downstairs,” Puck says, looking intrigued.

As Kurt walks slowly down the hall, he can hear Finn starting to list off names. “Well, like there’s Harry and Ginny, and Hermione and the Russian guy before her and Ron, and McGonagall and the Charms one, Flitwick? And Luna and Neville, and Sirius and Lupin…”

Kurt shakes his head, impressed, and continues down the stairs. “Dad?” he calls out.

“Yeah?” Burt calls back. “I’m in the kitchen.”

“Can we talk?” Kurt asks as he heads towards the kitchen. “Dad! Are those cookie crumbs?”

“No!” Burt says, though he quickly brushes the crumbs off his shirt. “They were, uh. Granola crumbs?”

“Dad, your heart,” Kurt fusses, shaking his head. “And poor Finn, too.”

“I only ate a couple!”

“And I want to come back to McKinley,” Kurt says firmly, taking the Tupperware container and tucking it under one arm. 

“And I want to win the Powerball, but I only ever get the one number right,” Burt replies. 

“This week,” Kurt says, still firmly. “Dalton is a stifling environment, and that would let you avoid further tuition payments at the end of the month.” 

“Which I’d just have to turn around and put into therapy bills, and a retainer for a lawyer, and worst case scenario, bail for me and possibly your brother,” Burt says. 

“I don’t think David Karofsky is at McKinley anymore,” Kurt says. “I’ll be fine. _Fine_. No therapy.”

“Oh really? David Karofsky just happens to have left McKinley at the exact same time you decided you didn’t like it there?” Burt frowns. “Is this about a boy?”

“Yes, Dad, I missed…” Kurt trails off. “No, Dad. And I’ve been unhappy for several weeks, and I have no idea where Karofsky went. Maybe he transferred at the end of the semester.”

“I thought you were making friends at Dalton. What about that Blaine kid? Or the Warbling guys?”

“I’m sure they’re all very nice once you get to know them, but I haven’t, really, and Blaine…” Kurt trails off a second time, hoping he’s not blushing as much as he feels like he is. “Blaine kept telling me to blend in,” he finally says. 

“I knew I didn’t like that kid,” Burt says. He narrows his eyes and shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know, Kurt. I want you to be safe at school. That’s more important than being popular.”

“I’m not _popular_ at McKinley, Dad, but there’s a difference between having friends and being popular,” Kurt points out, even though he knows he’s getting distracted. “You can ask Finn!” he blurts. “About Karofsky!”

“Finn!” Burt shouts. “Finn, come down here a minute, will you?”

Finn comes thundering down the stairs a moment later, almost like he was waiting for Burt to call, and Kurt hides a smile as Finn appears, Puck on his heels. 

“Yeah, what’d you— _hey_! Who ate the rest of the cookies?” Finn scowls at Burt and then at Kurt. 

“I don’t know anything about any cookies,” Burt says, waving his hand dismissively. “Kurt tells me he thinks David Karofsky isn’t at McKinley anymore. Is this true?”

“Well, I mean, uh. I haven’t seen him,” Finn says. “Like, at _all_ , so I figured that meant he was gone.”

“And you didn’t think you should mention this to me or your mom?” Burt asks.

Finn twists his face up in thought. “I guess I didn’t really think about it until you—” Kurt shakes his head and points to his chest, eyebrows raised. “I mean,” Finn continues, “until _Kurt_ asked me about it. Yesterday, I think? Maybe it was really early this morning.”

“Yeah, you know, once football was over, no reason to think about Karofsky,” Puck pipes up. “Are you sure there’s no cookies left?”

Kurt sighs and holds up the Tupperware. “There are three. We’ll share them. Not you, Dad. But see? No Karofsky. I can transfer back.” 

“Puckerman? Can you back up what Finn’s saying?” Burt asks Puck.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen him in, like, _months_ ,” Puck says. “Now that I think about it, I mean.” 

“See, Burt? He’s totally safe with us,” Finn says. “Nothing could possibly go wrong!”

Kurt widens his eyes, shaking his head a little, because he can think of plenty of ways it could go wrong, even if Karofsky really _had_ transferred. “Right,” he squeaks out anyway. 

“Nothing serious,” Puck says. “There’s still Rachel and glee club, but that’s usually not life-threatening.”

“But we’re totally keeping the bird,” Finn adds. 

“Good ol’ Rottie. He’ll like it with us better,” Puck says.

“His _name_ ,” Finn says, through his clenched teeth, “is _Sir Bird_.”

“We can decide that later,” Kurt says. “After Dad says he’s fine with the transfer.”

“I’ll be fine with it after I call the school and talk to somebody tomorrow,” Burt says. “Got it? And you two bird enthusiasts had better keep an eye on him.”

“Perfect, that will give me tomorrow to make sure I have all my things,” Kurt says with a smile. “And inform the Warblers of Pavarotti’s, ah. Relocation.”

“Can we call him Hoffa?” Puck whispers.

“Sir. Bird,” Finn hisses. 

“Sir Rottie Bird of Hoffa?” Puck tries, still whispering. 

Finn frowns for a moment before nodding. “Acceptable.”

“We’re just going to go eat these cookies,” Kurt says, shooing Finn and Puck out of the kitchen ahead of him. “Thanks, Dad!” He pokes Finn in the back with the Tupperware. “Faster!” he hisses. Finn starts sprinting up the stairs, not looking until he’s in front of his bedroom door.

“Can I have the cookies now?” Finn whispers.

“Get in there!” Kurt insists, rolling his eyes and pointing into Finn’s room. Finn sighs and walks through his door, turning to face Kurt once he’s inside.

“Now?” Finn asks.

“Fine, Finn,” Kurt says, shaking his head and opening the Tupperware. “And thank you both for your assistance.”

“No problem,” Finn says, taking a cooking and cramming half of it into his mouth. “If Burt finds out we’re lying, I’m telling him it was your idea,” he adds, spraying crumbs. 

“Nah, blame me,” Puck offers, picking up a cookie and then sprawling on Finn’s bed. “He can’t ground me or anything.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Kurt says, taking the third cookie. “But I think we’d still be grounded for going along with it.”

“We can still hack Figgins’ phone tomorrow,” Puck says. “That could be fun, too.”

“I think you just wanna hack Figgins’ phone,” Finn says.

“Well, yeah. Duh,” Puck says, shrugging before he takes a bite of the cookie. “Could be useful.”

“I think I will leave you gentlemen now,” Kurt says, carefully closing the Tupperware container. “With any luck, tomorrow will be my last day at Dalton.”

“Good luck!” Finn says. 

“Why thank you.” Kurt walks back to his room, closing the door before whistling at Pavarotti, who trills and then flies to the top of the mirror. “Yes, sleeping is probably a good idea,” Kurt says, nodding a little, and he gets ready for bed quickly, falling asleep to the sound of Finn and Puck laughing about something. 

 

The next morning, Kurt improvises a water dish and food bowl for Pavarotti before packing up the cage and its accoutrements and heading to school. During a lunchtime meeting of the Warblers, Kurt stands and tries to summon a tear or two as he informs the Warblers that Pavarotti won’t be returning. They all interpret that as Pavarotti having died, of course, and Kurt doesn’t correct them. When the meeting ends, Kurt makes eye contact with Blaine, nodding his head towards the lounge. Blaine nods his agreement, and they walk down the hall, taking a small table to one side. 

“I wanted to tell you thank you,” Kurt says, “as well as good-bye, at least for now.”

Blaine’s eyebrows rise up. “There’s no reason to be so hard on yourself. Nobody’s blaming you for Pavarotti’s death, and they’re certainly not going to kick you out of the Warblers over it!”

“Oh, that hadn’t even occurred to me,” Kurt admits, feeling a little stung and taken aback by the idea of it. “No, I’m going to be leaving Dalton.” 

“Leave? _Why?_ ” Blaine asks. “Why would you want to leave? I thought you loved it here.”

“I feel _safe_ here, but that’s not quite the same thing,” Kurt says. “The issues that caused me to come here are no longer issues, so I’ll be returning to McKinley.” It’s not precisely true, but Kurt isn’t _scared_ the way he was, so in that sense, it is true. 

“I hate that we’re losing you so close to regionals,” Blaine says, looking almost comically sad. “Your range really filled out our chorus, and the energy you brought to the meetings will definitely be missed. Is there anything I could do to convince you to stay?”

“No,” Kurt says candidly. “I’ll be much happier at McKinley. And don’t worry, I’m not going to have New Directions sing any of the Warblers’ songs.” He knows that they won’t really miss Kurt’s ‘energy’, and more than anything, he thinks Blaine liked having yet another voice behind him. 

“As long as you remember that I’m still your friend, even if you are abandoning us in our hour of need,” Blaine says with a lighthearted laugh that Kurt finds strangely irritating.

“Of course,” Kurt says, though he doesn’t know that their odd, tenuous friendship will survive the end of Kurt’s crush and attending different schools. Kurt stands, mustering a smile. “I suppose I’ll see you at Regionals.”

“I suppose so,” Blaine agrees. “Best of luck in your transfer. Don’t be a stranger!”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, then walks away, holding his head higher than he has in several weeks. McKinley might not be a safe haven, but it’s a place he can be himself, and he would almost call it home. He has two more class periods, technically, but Kurt continues walking to the parking lot, determined to get home and out of the uniform for the last time before anyone else arrives at the house. 

That’s exactly what he manages to do, and Kurt is lying on his bed reading and listening to music while Pavarotti flies around when he hears the door downstairs open and close, which suggests Finn, at least, is home. He listens to the progress of Finn through the house and up the stairs, and looks towards the doorway, expecting Finn to walk past within seconds. 

“Hell-ooooooo,” Finn calls out, just before he pops his head around the door frame. “Did you do it? Did you fake a bird death?”

Kurt nods, trying not to laugh. “I did. The Warblers now believe Pavarotti to be deceased. Blaine for a few moments thought I was quitting over it, even.”

“So, are you free?” Finn asks.

“Dad hasn’t officially confirmed it, but I’m treating it as if I am, yes. For one day, I have no homework and am not a student.”

“Awesome!” Finn says, coming into Kurt’s room and flinging himself onto the bed next to Kurt. “So now I can tell you all about our regionals set!”

“But we still have at least forty-eight hours before the competition!” Kurt says, still struggling not to laugh. 

“Hey, we have choreography and everything this time,” Finn says. “Sort of.”

“Oh?” Kurt pauses his music and turns towards Finn, eyebrows raised. “What’s the setlist then?”

“An original song and, uh, some other song that I don’t actually know what it is.”

“How do you— nevermind,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “What’s the original song, then? Who wrote it?”

“Everybody, and oh, hey, we should get everybody together right now and show it to you!” Finn says. 

“I’m in sweatpants!”

“Then you’ll be really comfortable,” Finn says, “or I guess you could change while I call everybody.”

“I think I’ll opt for the latter, yes,” Kurt says. “Aren’t they going to wonder why you feel the need to have an impromptu glee meeting at your house?”

“They’ll be so excited I got you back, they won’t even ask any questions!” Finn says.

Kurt mouths ‘you?’ when Finn isn’t looking, but stands up, making a shooing motion. “Go call, then, while I change. And tell Puck thank you, again.”

“I’ll get him to bring a recording of Burt talking to fake-Figgins, if he’s got one,” Finn says. “I’ll be right back.”

“Dad can _never_ find out about this,” Kurt mutters to himself as he digs through his closet looking for something stylish but comfortable enough for choreography. “He’d try to homeschool me, I think.” Outfit selected, Kurt changes and then goes down the hall, stopping outside Finn’s room and tapping on the doorframe. 

“I’m still on the phone with Brittany,” Finn says, waving Kurt in. “She’s confused. She didn’t know you’d left.”

“Just tell her to come help me learn the dance,” Kurt says after a moment’s thought. “She’d probably understand that.”

“No, okay. Yeah,” Finn says into the phone, then ends the calls and puts the phone down. “Santana said she’d explain it all to her later, so it’s cool.”

“Is that your last call?” Kurt asks.

“Yeah, I just had to activate the tree,” Finn says.

“Please tell me there was not a special version for ‘when Kurt transfers back’.”

“Nooooo,” Finn says, too loudly and with an overly exaggerated look of shock on his face. “Of course not!”

“Oh, that’s a yes,” Kurt says with a wince. “Do we at least have time for a snack before they descend?”

“Is it a fast snack?”

“Aren’t snacks somewhat fast by definition?” Kurt asks. “And how fast are they driving? Or did you have them waiting in a nearby cul de sac?”

Finn’s eyes dart side to side. “Uhh…” 

“Please tell me that they at least carpooled, then?” Kurt says, turning to leave Finn’s room and head down the stairs. 

“I don’t know anything about that!” Finn calls after him.

“That’s probably a no,” Kurt says to himself, going straight to the refrigerator and staring into for a few seconds before closing it and opening the freezer instead. “Ice cream it is.” Kurt has enough time to get out a spoon and start eating before he hears the front door. 

“Hey!” Puck’s voice calls out. 

“Come on in,” Finn shouts down the stairs. “I’ll be down in just a second!”

Kurt takes a last bite of the ice cream before putting the lid on the container and opening the freezer, intent on hiding the ice cream before Puck or anyone else can get to the kitchen. 

“You didn’t bring enough for the class?” Puck says from right behind him, and Kurt jumps. 

“You should wear a bell around your neck,” he says, spinning around to face Puck, and Puck laughs, though Kurt isn’t sure if it’s at the bell comment or the look on Kurt’s face.

The loud thump of Finn coming down the stairs only slightly precedes Finn’s loud, “Hey, Puck! What’s up?”

“Kurt’s face,” Puck says, still laughing, which does answer that question, Kurt supposes. 

“You snuck up on me!” Kurt protests.

“But he shouted when he came in,” Finn says, walking into the kitchen.

“I didn’t know his first destination was going to be the refrigerator,” Kurt says.

“My first destination is always the refrigerator,” Puck says. 

“That’s true,” Finn says. “It is.”

“Did you really make my dad talk to fake-Figgins?” Kurt asks. 

“I have the tape right here, dude,” Puck says, pulling out a cassette tape and frowning at it. “The A/V equipment is really old. Do you even _have_ a tape player?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one in the radio thingy down in the basement,” Finn says. 

“Let’s go listen to it,” Puck says, grinning. 

Kurt starts to protest, then realizes that they should listen to it well in advance of any possibility that his dad could come home and overhear it. “Fine,” he says with a sigh, gesturing to the basement.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” Finn says. He opens the door to the basement and walks loudly down the stairs, returning after about a minute with a dusty boombox in one hand. “Here we go!”

“Does it still work?” Kurt asks doubtfully. 

“It still did, what was that? Freshman year?” Puck says, looking at Finn.

“Ohhhh yeah,” Finn says, nodding vigorously. “I still have our demo tape somewhere.”

“We were _awesome_ ,” Puck says, plugging in the boombox and then putting the tape in. 

“Demo tape?” Kurt says, then shakes his head. “Nevermind,” he whispers as the tape starts to play. 

“Thunder Inferno,” Finn whispers to Puck, holding up his fist. Puck grins and bumps Finn’s fist.

“That doesn’t even _sound_ like Figgins!” Kurt whispers over the introductory part of the call. Burt seems to think that it does, fake accent and all, and he continues with the call. “What freshman got conned into this?”

“Stoner Brett,” Puck says with a shrug.

“Stoner Brett’s not even a freshman,” Finn says.

“I just meant—” Kurt cuts himself off, listening to the remainder of Burt’s phone call before speaking again. “Well, at least it sounds like Dad was convinced.”

“Awesome!” Finn says. “So, you figure he can get all the paperwork done before tomorrow?”

“I think the real Principal Figgins will be so pleased to see me again, he won’t care,” Kurt says. “I’ll just plan on going tomorrow.”

“We owe Lauren a modeling session for her photography portfolio,” Puck says, taking the tape and pocketing it again. “I already gave Stoner Brett a king-size Snickers.”

“Uh, what kind of modeling?” Finn says, frowning. 

“Not nudes!” Puck says quickly. 

“What kind, Puck?” Kurt says, echoing Finn’s question.

“Just, uh. You know. Underwear.”

Finn sighs and looks relieved. “Ohhh. Okay, she just meant _you_ , then.”

“Umm.” Puck looks sheepish and shakes his head. “She knew it was for Kurt, and she figured you were involved, so… all three of us.”

“No,” Finn says. “No way. No freaking way.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Puck says. “She didn’t mean like, thongs or anything.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt says faintly. “I don’t want to pose in my underwear!”

“Me, either,” Finn says.

“At least it’s not a uniform,” Puck says to Kurt, raising an eyebrow and almost smirking. 

Kurt huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for a _very_ short time, and no one at McKinley sees them. Finn will do it too.”

“Hey!” Finn protests. “I didn’t say I would!”

“What if she tells Dad?” Kurt asks. “Then I’d have to go back to Dalton _and_ we’d be grounded.”

“But… but… _underwear_ , Kurt,” Finn whines. 

“Do you want to go buy new underwear just for that?” Kurt says.

“I just don’t want anybody to see me in my underwear!”

“No one at all?” Puck says. “Are you going to turn out the lights when you fuck?”

“Puck!” Kurt protests.

“ _Yes!_ ” Finn says.

“Lame,” Puck says. “And yeah I’m talking to both of you.”

“Dude, you _look_ for reasons to take your shirt off,” Finn says. “Don’t tell me I’m lame.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Puck says. “I’m hot. I’m just making sure everyone else gets to enjoy it.”

“People might get habituated to it, you know,” Kurt says. “You might want to make them more curious.”

“They what?” Puck asks.

“Might make you a habit,” Finn says. “And habits are bad.”

“I’m a good habit to have!” Puck says. 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Kurt says with a sigh.

“See?” Finn says, gesturing at Kurt. “That’s not what he meant. People don’t want to _have_ habits. They want to _break_ habits!”

“That’s also not what I meant,” Kurt says quietly, shaking his head. “Why does it sound like a herd of elephants is approaching?”

“Oh, that’s probably everybody,” Finn says. 

“I didn’t know anyone owned a vehicle large enough to hold everyone,” Kurt says. 

“Caravan,” Puck says with a shrug. “I was closer.”

Kurt has to admit that the original song they’re all doing as a group is well-written, and the choreography doesn’t take him too long to learn, but everyone ends up eating dinner there, too, after Burt gets home and gives Kurt the official news that he’s transferring back to McKinley. 

 

Kurt goes to bed early, waking up for an hour in the middle of the night before falling back asleep and waking up ten minutes ahead of his alarm. When he finally is happy with his appearance, he walks down the stairs for breakfast, surprised to see Finn already in the kitchen, until Kurt reminds himself that he doesn’t have to leave significantly ahead of Finn anymore. 

“Good morning,” Kurt says.

“Hey. How’s your bird?” Finn asks.

“Quite happy without a cage,” Kurt says. “Do you think we can talk Dad into letting him fly around the entire house?”

“I don’t think we can talk _Mom_ into that,” Finn points out.

“Oh. That’s true.” Kurt frowns into the refrigerator and pulls out the egg carton. “Maybe if we trained him to only go in one place? And do you want some eggs?”

“I don’t know about eating eggs,” Finn says. “I mean, we were just talking about Sir Bird. It seems kinda cruel.”

“Yes, but these are free-range chicken eggs. Happy chickens,” Kurt says, taking two out of the carton. 

“Are you scrambling them or frying them?”

“Which would you prefer?” Kurt asks. 

“I like mine fried,” Puck’s voice says from the doorway, and Kurt squeaks and jumps. 

“What!”

“You always look so surprised to see me,” Puck says. “And I like fried eggs.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Finn says. “In butter. Don’t use the fake stuff. It’s gross. I don’t care how good it is for my heart.”

“Why are you here, Puck?” Kurt asks. “I didn’t hear the door this time!”

“He’s kinda always here,” Finn says.

“I slept over,” Puck says with a shrug. “Toast?”

“The good bread’s hiding in the cabinet above the refrigerator, but you’ll have to get Finn to get it down,” Kurt says, getting out four more eggs before returning the carton to the refrigerator.

“Way ahead of you,” Finn says, already reaching into the top cabinet. “I was already headed over here when he said toast.”

“And I already had out the real butter,” Kurt says, sticking out his tongue at Finn. 

“Hey, it was a fair thing to ask!” Finn says, holding up the bread. “Catch!” While still looking straight at Kurt, Finn throws the loaf of bread sideways at Puck instead. 

“Hey!” Puck says, and out of the corner of his eyes, Kurt can see the bread hit the side of Puck’s head. 

“Don’t squish the bread!” Kurt says, even though he’s laughing. 

“It wasn’t me!” Puck cries. 

“It was totally you!” Finn says. “Your head squished it!”

“You threw it at me!” 

“I get the first slice of toast,” Kurt interjects, flipping the eggs in the pan. “Finn, orange juice.”

“Don’t break the yolk,” Finn says as he opens the fridge. 

“Have I ever?”

“Yes,” Finn says. “January.”

“We don’t talk about that day,” Kurt says stiffly. 

“What day?” Puck asks, putting bread into the toaster. “And dude, it’s a four-slice toaster, we all get the first slice.”

“He’s right,” Finn says to Puck, then turns to Kurt. “You’re right. Sorry. We don’t talk about it.”

“Now I really feel like I’m missing something,” Puck complains. “Why didn’t you bring Rottie down?”

“The poor bird is going to get confused because of you two,” Kurt says.

“ _Sir Bird_ ,” Finn hisses.

“Sir… what did you say?” Puck asks Kurt. “Sir Hoffa Bird Rottie?”

“Sir Rottie Bird of Hoffa,” Kurt says with a sigh, plating the fried eggs. 

“Yeah, that. That’s too long. Rottie’s like, his cool nickname,” Puck says. 

“No, because you don’t know him that well,” Finn counters. “We have to be formal. He’s Sir Bird.”

“We may not have known him very _long_ , but we’ve spent _time_ with him!” Puck says, looking genuinely offended at the thought of being formal with a bird.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s his favorite color?” Finn demands.

“Red, duh,” Puck says very confidently as the toaster pops up four slices. 

“Why red?” Finn asks.

“He spent more time sitting on red things, and when he had a choice of where to fly, he liked your jacket best,” Puck says. “Also we should have gotten Kurt to transfer back sooner, because you haven’t offered me fried eggs in weeks.”

Kurt glares at Puck, who just grins at him, and Kurt sighs. “It’s a one time offer. Tomorrow is Finn’s turn.”

“Sleeping at my house,” Puck says, now grinning at Finn. 

“I guess if Kurt came too, he could eat my fried eggs at your house,” Finn says.

“Wh— nevermind.” Kurt sits down with his plate, picking up his fork. “Did anyone think to warn Mr. Schuester that I was coming back?”

“Not me,” Puck says, moving his eggs on top of his toast before picking up the toast.

“He likes surprises,” Finn mumbles around a mouthful of toast. 

“Oh, good, I’m Mr. Schuester’s weekly surprise,” Kurt says. “I’m not taking confetti.”

“I can get confetti,” Puck says. 

Finn says something even more garbled, spraying crumbs everywhere. 

“Or Finn’ll make it,” Puck says with a grin. 

“We don’t need confetti!”

“I didn’t say anything about confetti,” Finn says after he swallows. “I said we should bring Sir Bird.”

“We didn’t get him a new cage yet,” Kurt says. “He needs something for safe transportation.”

“Shoebox with holes?” Puck says.

“Can we go get him a cage during lunch?” Finn says.

“Where do you buy a bird cage?” Puck asks. “Do they sell them at Walmart?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Kurt admits. 

“We’ll go there during lunch and check,” Finn says.

Kurt isn’t precisely sure how Pavarotti, or whatever his name now is, became a group-owned bird, but he shrugs his acquiescence and finishes his breakfast, standing to put his plate and cup away. “Very well, lunch then.”

“So, can we bring him in a shoebox until then?” Finn asks.

“I’ll go find a shoebox,” Kurt agrees. “We tell people any resemblance to the recently deceased Warbler mascot is sheer coincidence, though I actually told them that he wasn’t coming back. It’s not my fault they thought that meant he was dead.”

“Nice one,” Puck says admiringly. “Are we still riding with Kurt, Finn?”

“Yeah, I think we should,” Finn says.

“Excuse me?” Kurt says. “Still? When was this decided?”

“We decided last night,” Puck says.

“It was after you went to sleep,” Finn adds. “We checked.”

“You… checked,” Kurt says slowly. “I’m just going to go get The Bird Formerly Known As Pavarotti.”

“Hey, yeah, he could have a symbol-name!” Puck says enthusiastically as Kurt starts to leave the kitchen.

“It could be a picture of a bird,” Finn says.

Kurt shakes his head to himself as he goes back upstairs, darting into Finn’s room for one of _his_ shoeboxes before quickly poking holes in it and coaxing Pavarotti into it. Kurt puts the hole-punched lid on, grabs his bag, and heads back downstairs, where Puck is making more toast. 

“For the road,” Puck says when Kurt gives the toaster an odd look. 

“Hey, that’s one of my shoeboxes,” Finn says.

“Your shoes are bigger, therefore your shoeboxes are bigger,” Kurt says. “Are you really going to begrudge the bird a large box?”

“No?” Finn says, like he’s just offering a possible correct answer, one of many potentially correct answers. 

“Do birds like bread?” Puck asks. 

“Not canaries, and of course you aren’t. If you two are insisting on riding with me, we’re leaving now.”

Puck and Finn follow him and Pavarotti out the door, and Kurt drives all of them to school, though he’s still not quite sure why he’s taking the bird, and he’s iffy on why, exactly, Finn and Puck wanted to ride with him instead of in one or both of their own vehicles. When they arrive at McKinley, Puck reaches for the box with Pavarotti, and when Kurt raises his eyebrows, Puck just insists that he and Finn will take really good care of the bird. Kurt shrugs, figuring he has enough to work out with his transfer that not holding on to Pavarotti will make things easier, and his morning passes without seeing Pavarotti again. 

 

As soon as Kurt leaves his class for lunch, Finn and Puck fall into step on either side of him, which makes him jump, and Puck starts laughing. “You can buy me a bell,” he says to Kurt.

“I’ll get him a collar at Walmart,” Finn says.

“Uh.” Puck squints at Finn, then shakes his head. “Okay, I’m not sure they have those at Walmart,” he finally says. “Might have to go up the freeway.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt says, trying not to laugh. “Finn!”

“What?” Finn asks.

“You can’t just, just collar people!” Kurt says, finally starting to laugh. 

“What?” Finn repeats. “What else would you put the bell on?”

“Puck? Where would you like the bell?” Kurt says, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Puck says, laughing. “Give me three choices at least.”

“Why is that funny?” Finn demands.

“I was talking about that place up in Van Buren!” Puck says. 

“That’s really enough of an explanation,” Kurt says, nodding. 

“What place?” Finn says, sounding increasingly distressed.

“The sex place, dude,” Puck says, luckily as they reach the door to leave the school completely. 

“Oh, okay, the sex place” Finn says, then stops in his tracks, his face starting to turn red. “Oh. _Oh_. The _sex_ place!” 

“Which is why you have to at least ask before the collar,” Puck says casually. 

“I just meant— I didn’t mean—” Finn starts to sputter. “I wasn’t—”

“Maybe we’ll stick with a jingle bell on a belt,” Kurt says delicately as he unlocks the doors. 

“I checked online, Walmart has bird cages,” Puck announces. “Then I made up a story about wanting pigeons to carry secret messages, because we were supposed to be looking up secret artist societies in Europe or something.”

“Okay, yeah, cool, bird cages,” Finn says. His face is still red, and he doesn’t make eye contact with Kurt as he gets into the passenger seat.

“And bird toys,” Puck continues. “We should get Rottie a few toys.”

“Beak sharpeners,” Finn says quietly. 

“Are we training him to injure people?” Kurt asks. 

“We should, that’d be awesome!” Puck says, leaning up with his elbows resting on the front seats. 

“Yeah,” Finn says. 

“Speaking of injuring people, I haven’t _actually_ seen David Karofsky. Did you two pay him off to stay unobtrusive?”

“Maybe,” Finn says evasively, looking out the window.

“I’m not complaining if that’s the case,” Kurt assures Finn. 

“Then absolutely, we’ll take credit,” Puck says, elbowing Finn’s shoulder. “Right, dude?”

“Yep,” Finn says.

“I’m stopping for actual lunch on the way back from Walmart,” Kurt tells them as he turns towards the Walmart. “I’m sure… Sir Rottie Bird of Hoffa… will appreciate his cage, but we need lunch.”

“We should get Big Macs,” Puck says.

“Don’t get chicken,” Finn stage-whispers. “It’ll upset Sir Bird.”

“I really don’t think he understands,” Kurt says, but Puck shakes his head at him, and when Kurt looks over at a stoplight, he would almost swear both Puck and Finn were trying to look like disapproving Jewish mothers. 

“How would you feel about someone eating a chimpanzee in front of you?” Puck argues, shaking his head again. 

“Disgusted,” Finn says. “That’s how you’d feel.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt says, pulling into the Walmart parking lot. “So as long as it’s not a bird, we can eat it?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Puck says.

“Or a chimpanzee,” Finn adds.

“I promise to never eat a chimpanzee,” Kurt says. “Let’s go find a birdcage.”

Once inside, Kurt asks an employee where the pet supplies are, which leads to the three of them standing in front of a display of various cages. “That one’s the most like his old one,” Kurt says, pointing to one of the smaller ones. 

“That’s too small,” Puck argues. “He needs exercise when he’s in there.”

“What about those big ones?” Finn says, pointing to a box with a large, multi-tiered cage that looks like it’s probably for parrots.

“That’s surely too big,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “Oh no, he’s Goldilocks.”

Puck grins slowly. “Does that make us the three bears?”

“I guess you just don’t really want Sir Bird to be happy,” Finn says.

Kurt sighs. “A cage that large won’t fit in my room. And _no_ , Puck, I don’t think any of us are bears.”

“Yeah, fine, you’re probably right,” Puck says, looking weirdly disappointed. “Still, that’s a funny image. All of us could have beards.”

“I don’t want a beard,” Finn says.

“I don’t think I can—” Kurt stops and sighs. “Why are we discussing beards? We need to pick out a cage.” 

“That big one is awesome,” Puck says, shaking his head with a grin. 

“I could keep the big cage in my room,” Finn says. “My bed is smaller. I have plenty of space.”

“But I…” Kurt trails off. “You want me to have to visit my own bird?”

“Bird visitation,” Puck says solemnly. “Better draw up a schedule for when he’s in which room.”

“Hey, you’re the one who doesn’t want him to have the big cage!” Finn says.

Kurt sighs. “Fine. Get the big cage.”

After the big cage is purchased, Kurt realizes it doesn’t solve the travel problem, but Kurt assumes Finn and Puck are going to think Pavarotti needs to fly around even if someone’s driving, at least by the end of the week. The three of them miss part of the period after lunch taking the cage by home and setting it up, and Kurt isn’t sure what that says about his return to McKinley. 

 

Mr. Schuester is as surprised as Kurt expected, though more surprised at everyone else’s lack of surprise than anything else, and when Burt asks Kurt how his first day back at McKinley went, Kurt smiles, tells him great, and doesn’t mention the whole leaving-campus-to-buy-a-bird-cage thing. Carole will probably discover it in a few days, as it is, and Kurt thinks that the more days they can have before the cage is seen, the better. 

Friday goes much like Thursday, except after school, Puck comes home with them, insisting that Kurt needs to come into Finn’s room so Pavarotti can fly around freely with all of them present. When Carole gets home, she tells them that she’ll order a pizza, and all three of them wait, Pavarotti safely in his cage. 

When the doorbell rings, Kurt assumes it’s the pizza, and he doesn’t even try to stop Finn from going to answer the door. Finn stomps loudly down the stairs, but instead of Finn yelling for Kurt to come down for pizza, someone seems to be yelling at Finn. 

Puck immediately starts to move closer to the yelling, clearly trying to eavesdrop, and after heaving a sigh, Kurt starts to follow him. They don’t get close enough to make out all of the words, though, before a new voice joins in. 

“PUCKERMAN!”

Puck jumps, winces, and then makes a face. “Shit!” 

“Who was that?” Kurt demands. 

“I, uh, think I had a date with Lauren,” Puck says sheepishly. “And I think… yeah. That’s Quinn yelling at Finn.”

“You _forgot_ you had dates?” Kurt asks. “I’m going to go get Finn— wait, how did Lauren even know to look for you here?”

“I’m always here,” Puck says, shaking his head. “You know that.” 

“But I live here,” Kurt mutters, heading the rest of the way to the front door where Quinn is in fact yelling at Finn. “Excuse me, ladies, I need to borrow Finn.”

“Yeah, he needs to borrow me,” Finn says, nodding his head vigorously and quickly walking backwards in Kurt’s direction. “I’ll, uh, be right—” He abruptly stops talking, turns around, and darts for the stairs. 

Kurt smiles tightly at Quinn and then Lauren before going after Finn, the door still open. Kurt can hear Quinn and Lauren shouting after him for a few seconds before the shouting abruptly ends and Kurt can hear them talking to each other. Kurt grabs Finn’s wrist and then Puck’s, hauling them up the stairs. 

“You both _forgot_ you had dates?” Kurt says incredulously. 

Puck shrugs. “Usually Lauren reminds me, if she doesn’t decide she has something better to do.” 

“I was thinking about other stuff!” Finn says. “I mean, there’s Sir Bird, and you came back to McKinley this week, and just, _other stuff_!”

“You need to apologize to those girls,” Kurt says. “How would you feel in their shoes?”

“Pretty powerful,” Puck mutters.

“Terrifying,” Finn says. 

“Oh my god. Go down there and apologize,” Kurt says, turning the two of them towards the bottom of the stairs and pushing on their back. “Go!” Kurt follows the two of them down the stairs and then stops at the bottom of the stairs, watching them walk towards the front door.

“They’re gone,” Finn calls out. “Does that mean we can come back upstairs?”

“They’re _gone_?” Kurt repeats, walking towards the door himself. 

“Totally gone,” Puck says, gesturing towards the still-open door. “Unless they’re waiting outside or something.” He sticks his head out the door, looks around, then pulls it back in, shaking his head. “Nope, gone.” 

“So now you not only stood them up, but ran them off?”

“Hey, it’s not our fault they left!” Finn says. 

Kurt presses his lips together at the somewhat indignant look on Finn’s face, then starts laughing. “You two forgot about dates because of a bird,” he says finally, “and then _ran away and hid_ from Quinn and Lauren.”

“I didn’t run away, I just hid from the beginning,” Puck says. “And it’s not like either of us was _alone_ with Rottie.”

“Yeah, we weren’t on a bird-date or anything,” Finn says.

“I didn’t say you were cheating on anyone with the bird,” Kurt says, still laughing. “Just that you might want to consider your priorities.”

“Huh.” Puck makes a face at Kurt, then looks like he’s thinking, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Well, it’s not like we were doing anything special,” Finn says. “We were just going to Breadstix. Quinn doesn’t even really _like_ Breadstix.”

“Then why were you going to Breadstix?” Kurt asks. “That doesn’t make any sense, Finn.”

“Because that’s what people do on dates in Lima,” Finn says, looking over at Puck and shrugging like he thinks that should be obvious. 

“’Cause everyone else’ll be there to see them on a date, there or the movie theater,” Puck says, and Kurt rolls his eyes. 

“Not that I would know, then, and doesn’t that make it even worse if Quinn was waiting at Breadstix?” Kurt shakes his head. “I still think it’s amusing you missed dates because of a bird.”

“Not just the bird,” Puck insists.

“We were busy!” Finn says.

Kurt shakes his head, not sure what to say, but luckily the doorbell rings again. “That should at least be the pizza,” he says.

“Maybe you should go get it, just in case,” Finn says. 

"Oh my god," Kurt says, shaking his head but laughing a little as he goes down the stairs and opens the front door, where he does find the pizza delivery guy. He pays him and walks to the kitchen, yelling out “Coast is clear!”

Finn breathes a loud sigh of relief as he comes into the kitchen. “Awesome,” he says. “Pizza is a lot better than getting yelled at.”

“Yeah,” Puck says. “We’re not _that_ horrible. Are we? I mean.” He stops and frowns. “Maybe Kurt’s right.”

“I’ll mark the calendar so I remember this auspicious date,” Kurt says, handing Puck and Finn each a plate.

“It’s not like we forgot on purpose,” Finn says. “And they didn’t give us a chance to explain or apologize! They just yelled.”

“No, the priority-thing,” Puck says. 

“You did stand them up,” Kurt feels obligated to point out. “Though I suppose I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than being turned down in the first place.”

“At least we didn’t do it because we were being mean,” Finn says. “We were just being dumb.”

“I’m not sure I’d claim either as a great excuse,” Kurt says.

Puck shrugs. “At least we’re not mean _and_ dumb.”

“Yeah. It’s not like we’re Karofsky and Azimio,” Finn says.

“Two individuals who do not have—” Kurt breaks off and shrugs. “Regardless, we should eat now.”

“We’ll buy presents for them or something,” Finn says. “We can go to the mall tomorrow and pick out something nice.”

“Lauren probably doesn’t want anything nice. The only time she’s asked for a gift it was candy. I think she’d rip a package in half and break whatever it was,” Puck says slowly. “Can I just order her a pizza and send it to her house?” 

“Are you going to have them spell out ‘I’m sorry’ in olives?” Kurt asks dryly. 

“She doesn’t like olives,” Puck says, looking confused. 

“You could spell it in pepperoni,” Finn suggests. 

“She likes sausage better, and I think it wouldn’t stay in letters,” Puck says, shaking his head. “I’ll just sing her another song in glee club.” 

“ _Another_ song?” Kurt asks. “What did I miss prior to my triumphant return?”

“Oh, I sang ‘Fat-Bottomed Girls’.” 

“She didn’t like it very much,” Finn says.

Kurt narrows his eyes. “Are you actually trying to date this girl, or are you just trying to give the appearance of wanting to date her?” 

“Huh?” Puck looks at Finn, as if Finn will have the answer. 

“I thought maybe you were going out with her ’cause she could take you in a fight,” Finn says, shrugging. “I mean, that’s why I’m with Quinn. She could literally kill me with her mind.”

“It is kind of hot,” Puck agrees. “Hey, maybe Quinn and Lauren should have a fight!” 

“And where would the two of you be?” Kurt asks dryly. “Watching, or determining which of the two of you could take the other in a fight?”

“Oh, I could take Puck in a fight, as long as I got him on the ground before he had a chance to punch me in the face,” Finn says.

“That’s because I’ve never really fought back with you,” Puck retorts. “If I was _actually_ trying to win, you’d be S.O.L., dude.” 

“ _No_ , it’s because I’m bigger than you by, like, fifty pounds or something,” Finn counters. “All I have to do is get you on the ground, and I could keep you pinned there as long as I had to.”

“I could get you off of me!” Puck says. 

“No way,” Finn says.

“Oh yeah. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve,” Puck boasts. 

Finn begins to say, “You’re not as tricky as you like to—” but before he finishes, he flings himself out of his chair, tackling Puck to the kitchen floor and pinning him there. “Ha!”

Puck grunts as he hits the floor, then starts wiggling around under Finn, and Kurt isn’t quite sure what’s going on, except that it ends up being relatively entertaining to watch. “Oh, my,” Kurt says almost to himself. “Boys, that is exceptionally homoerotic.” 

“Hold still!” Finn yells, wrapping his legs around Puck’s legs and leaning more of his weight against Puck’s back. “Say I can beat you in a fight!”

“I’m not going to hold still!” Puck yells back. “I told you, I’ve never fought back before!” Kurt isn’t quite sure what Puck is doing, since he’s mostly hidden from view, but he definitely is not holding still. “You can’t!”

“I’ve been missing out on quite a bit,” Kurt mutters to himself as he watches.

Finn digs one elbow into Puck’s side as he puts his other arm around Puck’s neck. “Say that I beat you!”

“Never,” Puck says with a grunt, one of his legs coming out from between Finn’s. “You aren’t even fighting. You’re just trying to… crush me, or something.” 

“At least neither of you appears to need any ice. Yet.” Kurt shakes his head, unwilling to try to pull them apart. 

“Do you _want_ me to hit you?” Finn asks. His voice sounds funny, higher-pitched than normal. “You can’t even flip over. You can’t even move your arms! Just say I won, and I’ll let you up!”

“Yeah? That what you want?” Puck says, and his voice sounds rougher than usual. “Just going to let me up, huh? I don’t think you can handle a fight standing up.” 

“Guess you’ll never know, ’cause you can’t even _get_ up,” Finn says. “Say I won. Just say it, so we can get up and eat or something!”

“Nope. You’re just a _cheat_ ,” Puck says, laughing.

“I’ll hit you for real!” Finn says. “Is that what you really want?”

“My god, what are you even fighting about?” Kurt asks. 

“Fighting,” Puck answers. “We’re fighting about fighting.” 

“We’re fighting about Puck saying the only reason I beat him in a fight is he didn’t fight back!” Finn says. He kind of wallows on Puck a little, then balls up his fist and hits Puck in the side. “There. Are you happy now?” he demands. “I hit you. Now say I win.”

“That wasn’t a real hit!” Puck says. “You didn’t win. It’s like… a draw.”

“It’s not a draw!” Finn yells. He sits up on his knees and somehow manages to flip Puck over onto his back before Finn drops his weight back down onto Puck’s stomach. Before Puck has an opportunity to react, Finn punches him in the face, hard enough that a small line of blood trickles from Puck’s nose.

“Ow, you asshole!” Puck says. “You fucking suckerpunched me!” 

“ _Now_ you need ice,” Kurt says quietly. 

“I _told_ you I was going to!” Finn says. “Shit! I’m sorry!” He doesn’t unpin Puck from the floor, but instead carefully wipes the blood off Puck’s face with his thumb, then wipes his thumb on his jeans. “Are you okay?”

“You didn’t break it, did you?” Puck asks. 

“Your countenance is the same as always.” Kurt sighs and goes to the freezer, pulling out an ice pack and handing it to Finn. 

“Yeah, and your nose looks okay, too,” Finn says. Still not getting off of Puck, Finn gently presses the ice pack to Puck’s nose. “Seriously, though, are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“Nope,” Puck says, even though he’s clearly lying. “You can’t hit for shit.” 

“I didn’t really want to hurt you,” Finn says. “I only hit you ’cause you wouldn’t say I won.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to lie.” 

“Are the two of you always this ridiculous?” Kurt asks. 

“No!” Finn says, at the same time that Puck nods under the ice pack and says, “Yes.” 

“ _That_ was ridiculous,” Kurt says. 

“You’re ridiculous!” Finn counters. 

“ _Me_?” Kurt says, his voice coming out more like a squawk. 

“Maybe Kurt wanted to pretend to fight, too,” Puck says. 

“Shut up, asshole,” Finn says to Puck, “or I’ll pretend fight you in the nose again.”

“We could figure out a way to all three pretend to fight,” Puck says, smirking under the ice pack. “You got upset about the first time in the nose!” 

“Just stop talking!” Finn says, his face turning red. 

“Or what?” 

“Or… _something!_ ”

“I think you’d _like_ it,” Puck says, his smirk getting bigger. 

“No I wouldn’t!” Finn insists, his face getting even redder.

“Uh-huh,” Puck says, shaking his head. 

“I wouldn’t!”

“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Puck insists. 

“Evidence?” Kurt repeats. “What evidence? What are you talking about?” 

“Shut up!” Finn yells in the same weird, pitchy voice he’s used through most of the fight. 

“Just calling it like I, uh. See it,” Puck says, the same smirk on his face. 

“What on earth are the two of you talking about?” Kurt asks, looking between Puck and Finn. 

“Don’t answer him!” Finn yells. “Like _you’re_ any better.”

Puck looks almost embarrassed for a moment, then laughs. “I never said any different.” Kurt gives them both a suspicious look, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Finn’s face turns so red it looks nearly purple, and he quickly stands up and runs towards and up the stairs, his bedroom door slamming behind him. Puck rolls onto his side and then jumps up, running up the stairs after Finn, and Kurt looks blankly at the pizza as he hears Finn’s door open again, slam again, and the sound of Puck and Finn yelling indistinguishably. They keep yelling for about two minutes before it gets quiet, and Kurt studies the pizza for another minute before quietly climbing the stairs. 

He listens for the sound of talking, but doesn’t hear that, and Kurt ends up standing in front of Finn’s door, his ear almost pressed to it. He still doesn’t hear any talking, but after a few seconds he can make out quiet gasps, and then what could, in fact, be Puck talking quietly, followed by a repeated soft ‘Oh’ that Kurt suspects is coming from Finn. 

Kurt can feel his eyes widen a little, and he tiptoes down the hall to his own room, closing the door quietly before deciding that if they can jerk off before dinner, he can too. He isn’t particularly _proud_ of himself for thinking about the two of them while he does so, but when he goes back downstairs to actually eat their pizza, they don’t meet Kurt’s eyes any more than he meets theirs. 

“Hopefully it’s not too cold,” Kurt says, almost to himself, as he opens one of the boxes. 

“Cold pizza’s still pizza,” Finn says. 

“It hasn’t even been in the refrigerator,” Puck says. “It’s room temperature pizza.” 

“Well, we can all enjoy some… room temperature pizza, then,” Kurt says, handing a plate to each of them. None of them say much as they eat, and once the pizza is mostly gone, Finn and Puck seem to forget about Pavarotti, and Puck follows Finn to his room with the excuse that Finn will make sure Puck makes it to the bus for Regionals on time. 

Kurt convinces himself for exactly thirty minutes that he should not eavesdrop, but eventually, he decides to quietly walk down the hall, standing with his ear against Finn’s door. Even though he stands there for at least five minutes, all he hears is video game music, the occasional explosion, and one or two exclamations that sound video game-related as well. Kurt sighs and walks back to his room, where he avoids the messages on his phone. The last thing he wants to do is become an inadvertent intermediary between either Finn or Puck and the girls that they stood up.

 

All three of them make it to the bus in plenty of time to leave for Regionals, though Kurt suspects it had less to do with Finn getting Puck there on time and more to do with Kurt getting Puck _and_ Finn there on time. The Warblers have a last-minute substitution, with Blaine performing ‘If We Ever Meet Again’ as a solo, which puzzles Kurt somewhat. The New Directions’ setlist of original songs goes very well in Kurt’s opinion, and it must go well in the judges’ opinions as well. Kurt decides he must be in the part of the fairytale where the hero enjoys professional success but continues to have little to no luck in love. That feeling is only reinforced by Blaine only barely acknowledging Kurt’s existence, and after the competition, Puck returns home with Kurt and Finn, this time not bothering to offer any particular excuse as to why. 

When Puck and Finn close themselves in Finn’s room after dinner, Kurt holds out for at least forty-five minutes before deciding to walk very quietly down the hall to stand in front of Finn’s door. At first, all he hears is video game music, just like the previous night, but this time, he realizes that he doesn’t hear any explosions, and he does hear a quiet ‘Oh’, only barely audible given the video game volume. That makes him stay, straining to see what else he might overhear. He hears only a few gasps and one louder, longer ‘Oh’ before the explosions suddenly start again, and he walks back down the hall as quietly as before. 

Kurt closes his door and raises an eyebrow at Pavarotti. “I don’t know what to think,” he says to Pavarotti. “I can’t get Blaine to even go on one date, and they have girls they are dating. And still, they’re jerking each other off. Does that seem fair to you? Maybe I should go out for wrestling.” He stops and makes a face as Pavarotti chirps three times in a row rapidly. “No, you’re right, I don’t want anyone near my face.” Kurt sighs. “It just seems as though I should have picked more homoerotic activities.” 

Pavarotti chirps again, then flies to perch on the top of Kurt’s vanity. He trills from there, looking at Kurt almost expectantly. “Well, yes, show choir _would_ seem like the appropriate venue,” Kurt says with a sigh. “At least I’m not having to attend Dalton any longer, since it was, amazingly, less homoerotic than my own household.” 

Kurt stares at Pavarotti, sighing when all Pavarotti does is trill an additional time. “I shouldn’t wait until my dad and Carole are in bed and then sneak back down there to listen again,” Kurt says firmly, but the very fact that he’s voiced the idea means, he knows, that he’s very much considering it. 

And, once he’s confident that his dad and Carole are asleep, that’s exactly what he does, standing next to Finn’s door, which is cracked very slightly. It’s cracked just enough that he can tell Puck is whispering something, and that Finn is breathing loudly, and Kurt has to press his hand against himself, feeling almost guilty when he goes back to his own room as soon as he hears them come, Finn crying out and Puck muffled by something. Kurt closes his own door, wincing when he realizes he forgot to cushion the sound of the door shutting. He leans against the door anyway, pulling off his clothes and ignoring his pajamas in favor of climbing under his sheets and duvet and wrapping his hand around himself. 

He feels less guilty than he did the day before, and Kurt is relaxed enough before he goes to sleep that he barely remembers to put on his pajama pants. The next morning, he has about three seconds after waking to be glad he remembered his pants, as Puck and Finn barge into the room. 

“Wake up!” Puck says enthusiastically. 

“We’re taking you bowling,” Finn says. “To celebrate.”

“What are we celebrating?” Kurt asks. “Being awake?”

“Our regionals win and you and Sir Bird’s freedom from the Warbler Academy,” Finn says. “Isn’t that a good thing to celebrate?”

“And we’re celebrating with bowling?”

“After breakfast,” Puck says. “Your dad said something about waffles. And I have bowling shirts at home, so we’ll stop and get them.” 

“Bowling shirts,” Kurt says flatly. “Really?” 

“And you’ve gotta bring Sir Bird,” Finn says.

“I don’t have a bird-size bowling shirt,” Puck says, looking distressed about that. “I’m sorry, Rottie. I guess I can check the thrift store next time. We’re still looking for one that’s really big enough for Finn.” Puck grins at Kurt. “You get to be Hal!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah, he’d be a good Hal,” Finn says. “But the bird is still coming with us. It’s a freedom celebration. That means both of you.”

“I don’t understand about ‘Hal’,” Kurt says. “And I didn’t argue about bringing Pavarotti—Sir Rottie Bird of Hoffa—though I suspect the bowling venue might argue with us.” 

“The bowling shirts have names.” Puck grins. “Finn’s is Bobby, and I’m Clem, and there’s a Hal, so that’s you. I haven’t found any more bowling shirts in awhile.” 

“You go to the thrift store to look for bowling shirts?”

“Not _just_ bowling shirts, but yeah, bowling shirts!” Puck says. 

“If anybody at the bowling alley argues, we’ll tell ’em that Sir Bird is your service bird,” Finn says. “I still have the number for those ACLU people that Rachel put in my phone. I’ll show them that if they say you can’t bring your service bird.”

“I… don’t know what to say to that,” Kurt admits. “Any of it. Am I allowed to get dressed before waffles and… bowling?”

“Sure,” Puck says, leaning against the wall near Kurt’s door. “Don’t let us stop you.” 

“Come on. We’ll take Sir Bird downstairs with us,” Finn says. 

“Oh, if you insist,” Puck says, smirking at Kurt and then holding out his hand for Pavarotti. “Hey, Rottie.” 

“Sir Bird,” Finn insist. “ _Sir._ Bird.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Puck says, waiting for Finn to leave Kurt’s room before leaving, closing the door behind him and winking at Kurt just before he closes it very softly. 

“Oh my god,” Kurt says to himself, flopping back on his pillow. “How did I get roped into going bowling as someone named Hal?” The worst part about it, Kurt thinks, is that he actually expects a chirp or trill from Pavarotti before remembering that they took the bird downstairs. 

“Along with my dignity,” Kurt grumbles, getting dressed in jeans, since he has no idea what color the bowling shirt will be. He fusses with his hair for several minutes, then goes downstairs, where he does smell waffles. “I was promised waffles?” he calls when he gets to the bottom of the stairs. 

“You’d better hurry, before Puck eats all of them,” Finn says. There’s a muffled sound following that, which could be Puck, either agreeing or disagreeing. 

Kurt sighs as he enters the kitchen. “You’re probably right. Please tell me you aren’t feeding the bird waffles?”

Puck shakes his head rapidly, still chewing. Finn points at Pavarotti and nods his head equally rapidly. “Hey!” Puck protests through a full mouth of waffles. 

“Eww,” Kurt says, wrinkling his nose. “Boys, really.” 

“Sir Bird likes the waffles,” Finn says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I was referring to the charming display your friend here showed, chewing with his mouth open,” Kurt says. “An activity which I know you sometimes engage in, as well.” 

“I was just defending my honor,” Puck says, holding up his hand in various configurations of fingers up and down before sighing. “Screw it, either Scouts’ honor or Vulcan honor or something.” 

“Vulcan Scouts,” Finn says, nodding his head in agreement. 

“Yeah, Vulcan Scouts’ honor,” Puck says with a grin. 

“I’m fairly certain that’s not a thing,” Kurt says, putting waffles on his plate and sitting down. “And I think Sir Rottie Bird of Hoffa is not supposed to eat waffles. He has birdseed.” 

“Can we at least put syrup on his birdseed?” Puck says. “That’d be a nice treat for him!” 

“I… look it up online,” Kurt says. “See if it’s safe for him.” 

Puck shrugs and nods, exchanging a glance with Finn. The three of them eat more waffles than Kurt would have considered possible, and then Puck does, in fact, insist on stopping at his house for bowling shirts, which he brings out almost triumphantly. 

The three shirts don’t clash, but they don’t match, either. One is blue and cream, one blue and black, and the third black and cream. “Hal,” Puck says happily, handing the blue and cream one to Kurt, “and Bobby,” he adds, handing the black and cream one to Finn. “And I’m Clem. Put ’em on.” He pulls off his own shirt, starting to pull on the black and blue one. 

Finn immediately pulls his shirt over his head, then buttons up the bowling shirt. “Uh, Puck?” Finn says.

“Yeah?” Puck says, apparently messing up the buttons and starting over on his own shirt. “What is it?” 

Finn holds his arms out. His bowling shirt stops a good two inches above the waistband of his jeans. “I have bowling shirt fail.”

Puck stops with his shirt buttoned about halfway up and runs his hand along the strip of skin showing, laughing. “It’s the biggest one! We’ll have to find you a bigger one sometime, ‘Bobby’.” 

“Mine smells dubious,” Kurt announces, slowly removing his shirt and putting the bowling shirt on. 

Finn sniffs the too-short shirt he’s wearing. “Mine smells fine. It just smells like Puck’s room.”

“Oh.” Kurt makes a face and finishes buttoning up the bowling shirt. “Are the shirts _truly_ necessary?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Puck says. “Maybe we could just find some striped fabric for a scarf for Rotti, since bird-size shirts aren’t anything I’ve ever seen before.” He grins at Finn and runs his hand along Finn’s stomach again. “Tickle?”

Finn laughs and half-heartedly twists away from Puck. “Stop it.”

“Yeah? Or what?” Puck asks with a grin. “C’mon, Kurt, help me out here.” 

“By doing what?” Kurt asks, but he does reach out and trail two fingers along Finn’s back. 

“Hey! We need to do our bowling!” Finn insists. Twisting away from Kurt doesn’t do him much good, though, because it just puts him closer to Puck. 

Puck laughs and reaches out with his other hand, putting it on Kurt’s arm. “Dude, we have all day to bowl, we can… tickle each other first.” He smirks at Finn, then looks at Kurt, who narrows his eyes at Puck. “Aww, don’t look like that, Kurt.” 

“Hmph,” Kurt says, but he keeps running his fingers on Finn’s back, and Puck’s hand starts to trail down Kurt’s arm. 

“It’s not fair. There’s, like, _way_ more of me to tickle!” Finn insists. “It makes it too easy!”

“It means that at any one time, we’re tickling a smaller percentage of your surface area,” Puck says, shaking his head. “You actually have an advantage.” 

“I don’t know if—” Kurt starts to say, then stops as Pavarotti flies around their heads, then lands on the dashboard with two chirps. “Did you want to help?” Kurt asks him. 

“No way, Sir Bird. Keep your talons to yourself,” Finn says, hunching down, then grabbing Kurt and shoving him between himself and Puck. “Be my human shield!”

“Hey!” Kurt protests. “I thought we were celebrating my freedom!” 

“Your freedom to be tickled. Your freedom to listen to things,” Puck says, smirking at Kurt and reaching for him with one arm, the other arm still stretching around Kurt and trying to grab Finn. Finn tries to conceal himself behind Kurt, which doesn’t work very well, considering he’s easily almost two of Kurt across. 

“Be a better shield,” Finn says, grabbing Kurt’s hips to move him side to side, blocking Puck’s arms. 

“I’m not as big as you!” Kurt protests. “You’re just exposing my unguarded flank!”

“Flank, huh?” Puck says. “That sounds interesting.” He grabs at Kurt, his hand landing just above Finn’s. “Ticklish there?” he adds, moving his fingers. 

Finn squeezes Kurt’s hips tightly, turning him to dislodge Puck’s hand. “There, I’ll help you, you shield me.”

“Two against one isn’t fair,” Puck says. “Finn, you tickle Kurt, and Kurt, help tickle Finn.” Pavarotti trills, flying in a circle again and chirping in a way that sounds almost approving. 

“But if I tickle Finn, he’ll tickle me!” Kurt protests, reaching towards Puck as he speaks. 

“That’s the whole idea!” Puck says. 

“Nobody tickle me and I won’t be forced to tickle back!” Finn says, immediately digging the fingers of his right hand into Kurt’s hip to tickle him. He lets go of Kurt’s other hip, flailing his arm in Puck’s directly. 

“You’re tickling me anyway!” Kurt says, squirming to try to escape Finn’s hand at the same time he puts his hand on the inside of Finn’s knee, and Puck keeps moving, trying to dodge Kurt’s other hand and Finn’s free hand. 

“That’s more like it,” Puck says smugly, and Kurt starts to laugh as Puck succeeds in tickling him alongside Finn’s hand. He shifts on top of Finn’s legs, trying to tickle Finn’s knee, and backs himself up against Finn’s chest. 

A split second later, Kurt realizes that Finn is rock-hard underneath him, and Kurt bites his lip, trying to decide if he’s supposed to ignore it or move forward again or possibly both. Finn makes the decision for him, though, shoving Kurt away from him and letting go of Kurt’s hip. 

“That’s enough, okay?” Finn says, turning his body slightly away from Kurt. “I’m done now. Stop.”

“Dude.” Puck sighs and punches Finn’s shoulder. “You’ve got to stop freaking out like that.”

“It would be appreciated, yes,” Kurt mutters, and Pavarotti chirps once. 

“Dude, just give me a minute,” Finn says, his face red and his body hunched forward, curled away from Kurt.

“It’s perfectly normal and does not necessitate shoving me,” Kurt says, a little more primly than he intends. 

“Yeah, see? Normal,” Puck says. “But fine. We’ll go bowl now. In our awesome bowling shirts.” 

“I had no idea you had an appreciation for the vintage,” Kurt says, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, Puck’s got a lot of old shit from that thrift store,” Finn says. He sounds like he’s happy for the subject change. 

“I suppose that does explain some of his clothing,” Kurt says with a small sigh, then smirking at Puck when Puck makes an offended-sounding noise. Puck sticks his tongue out, and the three of them are quiet until they arrive at the bowling alley. 

Somewhat surprisingly, no one asks them about Pavarotti, but Kurt still tells him that he thinks he shouldn’t fly around too much. He’s not sure if the bird can understand him, but it can’t hurt. 

The bowling turns out to be more fun than Kurt had anticipated, though by far the biggest surprise is how well Finn can bowl, his final score 220. “Have you considered bowling professionally?” Kurt asks. 

“Hey, yeah, then you could get bowling shirts that are long enough!” Puck says. 

“I don’t think I want to bowl professionally,” Finn says. “I think that’d take too much time away from football and glee club and stuff like that.”

“No, like, _after_ high school,” Puck says. “You could go on tour. Do you think you need a manager if you’re a pro bowler?” 

“Are you nominating yourself?” Kurt asks. “There you go, Finn, you already have a manager.” 

“But I seriously don’t really want to be a pro bowler,” Finn says. “Seriously.”

“Man, why not?” Puck asks, shaking his head. “It’d be a great way to get to travel.” 

“Well, I’ll _think_ about it, okay?” Finn says.

“Come on, Pavarotti,” Kurt says, and Pavarotti flies off the scoring computer to land on Finn’s shoulder. “You could have a mascot,” Kurt offers. 

“Oh, yeah, Rottie’d be great at being a mascot,” Puck says as they leave the bowling alley. 

“I said I’d think about it, not that I’m for sure doing it,” Finn says. 

“Well, just add it to the list of things to think about,” Puck says. “You’d better drop me off at my place. Otherwise Burt’ll start charging me rent.” 

“I hardly think my dad will charge you money,” Kurt says, shaking his head. 

“Nah, that’s what he said at breakfast. Right, Finn? Back me up here.” 

“It’s what Burt said,” Finn says.

“Don’t worry,” Puck says with a grin. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Kurt shakes his head. “Oh, I assumed as much.” 

 

 

On Tuesday evening after dinner, Kurt decides to actually look at his assigned homework, even though he has no idea what they’re covering in at least one class, thanks to substitute teachers and catching up with people during class instead of taking notes. When Kurt realizes he has no idea what his scribbled abbreviations mean in terms of the assignment, he stands up, hoping Finn at least knows what the initials are standing for. 

When he reaches Finn’s room, the door is almost but not completely closed, and he pushes it open slowly. Instead of Finn working on his homework, however, what he sees is Finn’s back. Puck is standing very close to Finn, and Kurt realizes a few seconds later that Puck is jerking Finn off, and Kurt presumes Finn is returning the favor from the movement of Finn’s arm. Puck’s mouth is right next to Finn’s ear, his lips moving even though Kurt can’t quite make out the words. 

Kurt starts to back out of the room, but Puck shakes his head very slightly, and Kurt stops, watching the two of them. After another moment, Puck nods towards Kurt again, then mouths ‘go for it’. Kurt shakes his head rapidly, and Puck almost pouts before going back to whispering to Finn. Finn and Puck’s arms keep moving, and Kurt stands just inside Finn’s bedroom almost in spite of himself. He does slowly move his hand, pushing against himself, and then Kurt realizes he’s aware that Finn and Puck are close to coming. 

Puck’s volume increases just enough that Kurt can hear the words, sweeter than he anticipated. “Yeah, this is awesome,” Puck is whispering to Finn. “I’ve got you, we’re all good, Finn.” Finn makes quiet gasping noises, and Kurt does put his other hand to the doorframe. 

Puck looks at Kurt again and grins before he puts his lips to Finn’s neck, and Finn’s head drops to Puck’s shoulder with a shudder before his entire body relaxes. Puck’s mouth looks like it almost smashes into Finn’s neck, and then Puck is still, too, and Kurt takes that at his cue to go back to his room. 

Kurt shuts the door, barely avoiding slamming it, and leans against it, breathing heavily. “Pavarotti,” he says quietly, and after Pavarotti chirps twice, Kurt continues. “I think I’m not really supposed to be jerking myself off over the thought of my stepbrother and his best friend jerking each other off.” Pavarotti chirps again, though Kurt thinks it almost sounds like approval. “I suppose it can’t hurt,” Kurt says weakly. “Not after I just watched them.” 

Kurt sighs, and Pavarotti trills once before Kurt gives in to what he wants to do, sliding off his pants and then his shirt before wrapping his hand around himself. He considers briefly that it’s possible Puck, or both Puck and Finn, could be on the other side of the door, listening to him. That thought makes him briefly press his lips tightly together, but when Pavarotti flies around the room once, he laughs shortly and then decides that he might as well give them something to hear, since he’s listened twice and watched an additional time. 

It isn’t that Kurt was still harboring a crush on Finn, or at least he doesn’t think he was, and he’s even more certain he didn’t have a hidden desire for Puck, but objectively, they’re good-looking and far closer to his type than Blaine, really. The two of them are also _there_ , seeming to care what happens to Kurt, and that alone changes things in Kurt’s mind. Kurt knows he probably should feel guilty or at least more guilty than he does feel, but he doesn’t, and he moves his hand a little faster. 

It doesn’t take Kurt long to get close to coming, and he pauses briefly, breathing heavily before putting his hand back on himself and moving it more rapidly. When he comes, he cries out more loudly than he normally would, still leaning against the back of his door. A moment later, he hears very quiet, almost scurrying noises, suggesting that Puck and Finn were, in fact, outside his door and are now moving back down the hall. 

Kurt slowly cleans himself up, setting his alarm deliberately early, in hopes of waking up before Puck and Finn, and abandons his homework for the rest of the night. Despite that best effort on Kurt’s part, the next morning Kurt is woken up by Puck and Finn in his room. 

“So, did you want to get breakfast before school or something?” Finn asks, standing awkwardly by the side of Kurt’s bed. 

Puck apparently has no such compunctions, because he flops onto Kurt’s bed, lying beside him. “What Finn means is, no one’s making waffles, and we don’t want instant oatmeal. Save us!” 

“Why are you up so early?” Kurt asks, staring at Finn. 

“Uh. Couldn’t sleep?” Finn offers, looking a little red-faced as he says it.

“Exactly!” Puck says, almost too quickly. 

“Fine.” Kurt sighs. “Give me ten minutes and figure out where we’re going.” 

“We can keep you company while you get dressed,” Puck says with a wide grin. “We’d hate to leave you out of the decision-making process.” 

“Yeah,” Finn says, still slightly red in the face, and no longer looking directly at Kurt.

“Excuse me?” Kurt says. 

“Let’s just get it all out there, right?” Puck says. “Go on, get some clothes on.”

“We can leave if you really want us to,” Finn says. 

“Nah, we’re staying,” Puck insists, and when Kurt sighs and climbs out of his bed, Puck grabs Finn’s arm and pulls him onto the bed. 

“Are you planning to offer commentary on my clothing, too?” Kurt asks. 

“No, we’re just gonna let you get dressed and not bother you,” Finn says, sounding like he’s directing it a little more at Puck than at Kurt. “Though if you want to wear that sweater with the strappy things, it’s really nice.”

“I… okay,” Kurt says, turning towards his closet. “You could put more birdseed out for Pav— Sir Rottie Bird of Hoffa, if you like.” 

“Did you get him any syrup yet?” Puck asks. 

“Yeah, I’ll just get up and go feed the bird,” Finn says. “Ow! Hey, stop!” After another few seconds, Kurt can hear him whispering, “Dude, that’s my _brother_!”

“Stepbrother,” Kurt says with a sigh, not turning around as he picks out a pair of pants. “Let’s just get that out of the way too.”

“See?” Puck says, sounding almost triumphant. 

“It’s still… weird,” Finn says. 

“I think that’s not the weirdest thing,” Puck says, this time more seriously, and Kurt finishes putting on his pants before turning around. 

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I think Puck’s correct,” Kurt says with a sigh, holding up the sweater he thinks Finn was referring to. “Did you mean this sweater?”

“Yeah, that one,” Finn says. “But we don’t have to talk about the other thing. It’s cool.”

“Is it?” Kurt asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“That’s not really the impression _I_ got,” Puck says, shrugging a little. 

“Yeah, we really don’t have to talk about it, like, _at all_ ,” Finn says. 

“Hmmm.” Kurt moves to his vanity, Pavarotti chirping at him, and Kurt fixes his hair silently. “We might want to at some point,” he says finally. “Before our parents take an interest.” 

“Yeah, at least I don’t have to worry about that,” Puck says. 

“I don’t think we need to. I think it’s fine. We don’t have to talk!”

“Fine,” Kurt says, a little more sharply than he intends to. “I suppose _you_ don’t.” He stands up and offers a finger to Pavarotti, which Pavarotti hops onto. “I’m going downstairs.” 

“I think you pissed him off,” Puck whispers loudly to Finn. 

“What? I just don’t think it’s something we have to talk about!”

“I love instant oatmeal!” Kurt says from the hallway, forcing a smile onto his face when Burt looks out at him oddly. “Just discussing breakfast.” 

“Kurt. _Kurt_ ,” Finn calls after him, his feet thumping loudly down the stairs. “Don’t be like that, I just—ohhhh, _hey_ Burt!”

“Getting coffee. Don’t even want to know,” Burt mumbles, brushing past Kurt on his way to the coffee pot, where he quickly pours himself a cup of coffee, then turns and walks back out of the kitchen again.

Once Burt is on his way back upstairs, Finn continues in a loud whisper. “I just don’t want it to get weird between all of us!”

“I think it’s a little late for that!” Kurt whispers back. “But fine. _Fine_. Just go cheat on your girlfriends together. I’ll keep my mouth shut if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“No, I wasn’t even thinking about that,” Finn says. “Crap. _Now_ I’m thinking about that, but—” He shakes his head. “But no, I just, I don’t know, this is all really weird, and I don’t want to make it weird _er_ , and I’m not even sure what’s going on with me and Puck, and now there’s whatever’s going on _here_ and—”

“Dude,” Puck interrupts, coming up behind Finn. “ _Chill_. Calm down. Let’s figure out breakfast first, because I _don’t_ love instant oatmeal, and now Kurt’s all pissed.” 

“Oh my god,” Kurt says with a sigh. “Fine. We’ll go eat breakfast, and I won’t make you eat instant oatmeal. _Then_ you can do whatever it is you wanted to do, Finn.” 

“I don’t want to do anything,” Finn says. “I mean, I _do_ , but I don’t know what to do.”

Kurt sighs again, walking out of the kitchen and out of the house. “Clearly you’ve decided you’re very uncomfortable with this.” 

“Dude,” Puck hisses, and Kurt can hear him whispering something to Finn. 

“But you knew and you didn’t tell me,” Finn whispers back, louder than Puck. “You didn’t even ask.”

Puck whispers something back, at least two or three sentences, his voice a low murmur. Finn huffs, but nods his head in response to whatever it is Puck said. Puck whispers something else, then raises his voice. 

“IHOP?” he asks, sounding hopeful. 

“We’ll miss part of first period,” Kurt feels obligated to point out. 

“It’s cool,” Finn says. “I usually just sleep through that one, anyway.”

“I suppose it’s good that I didn’t end up asking you about the homework last night after all,” Kurt says. 

“ _You_ were going to ask _Finn_?” Puck says. “Didn’t you make some comment once about never asking Finn for help with homework?” 

“I just needed to know what the assignment was!” Kurt says. “I didn’t exactly pay attention to what the abbreviations meant.” 

“What abbreviations?” Finn asks.

“For US history,” Kurt says. “There was something with a ‘W’ and something else with an ‘X’. I wasn’t really paying attention in class, I was talking to Mercedes and Brittany.” 

“We could all do our homework together,” Puck says innocently. “I can figure out what the ‘W’ and the ‘X’ mean, Finn can Google things, and you can actually tell us what to write!”

“I’m a pretty good Googler,” Finn says. “I can Google for all of us.”

“Are you going to type for all of us, too?” Kurt asks. 

“If it’s okay for me to type slow, yeah,” Finn says.

“Yeah, I actually type faster,” Puck says. “But sometimes I get bored. Finn turned in a paper with some random sentences about blow jobs.” 

“Giving or receiving?” Kurt asks curiously before he can convince himself not to. 

Puck grins. “Yeah, which was it, Finn?” 

“Giving,” Finn mumbles, his face turning red. 

“Well, that’s a novel way to come out to someone, I suppose, if that was your intent,” Kurt muses as they arrive at the IHOP. 

“It would have been a good blow job,” Puck says. Finn doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue, either. He just turns redder and gets out of the car. 

“I know what you’re expecting me to ask,” Kurt says to Puck. “I’m not going to do it.” 

Puck grins and holds the door open to the IHOP. “The answer’s yes, anyway.” 

“I wasn’t planning to ask a yes or no question!” 

“Answer’s still yes,” Puck insists. 

“Oh, somehow I doubt that,” Kurt says with a smirk, then holds up three fingers for the hostess. “Finn, you read it. Do _you_ think Puck imagined himself as a girl to preserve the illusion of hetersexuality?”

Finn looks startled, then confused, then turns red again. “Uhhhh…”

“Yeah, that might be a no,” Puck admits, running his hand over his mohawk as the three of them are seated. “I don’t think I’ve ever imagined myself as a girl.” 

“That’s oddly a relief,” Kurt admits. “I’m getting an omelet.” 

“Pancakes,” Finns, leaping gratefully on the opportunity to discuss food instead of Puck’s blowjob paper. “Eggs, bacon, hashbrowns. Side of toast.”

“You always get toast with pancakes,” Puck says. “It’s so weird.” 

“Maybe he’s carb-loading?” Kurt suggests. 

“I just like toast,” Finn says.

“I’m getting hashbrowns and pancakes and an omelet,” Puck says. “After we order, we can sort-of talk.” 

“Sort-of?” Kurt asks. 

“You know, discreetly or whatever,” Puck says, looking around the restaurant.

“Here?” Finn squawks. 

“It would prevent any of us running away, true,” Kurt concedes. 

“We can use those euph-things,” Puck says with a shrug. 

“Euphemisms?” Kurt asks, and Puck nods. 

“Maybe we should talk in the car instead,” Finn says.

“There’s no guarantee this is going to be a long conversation,” Kurt points out, then pauses as they order. When the server leaves, Kurt turns back to Puck and Finn. “The conversation could consist of the two of you telling me to go away. It wouldn’t be the first time lately that I was told that.”

Finn frowns and rests both his elbows on the table. “Maybe I need to talk to Puck first, since he told me I’m supposed to talk about some of that with him and not take it out on you.”

“I appreciate that,” Kurt says somewhat dryly.

“C’mon, we’ll go to the bathroom,” Puck says, standing up and gesturing for Finn to come with him. Finn stands and follows Puck back to the bathrooms. 

Kurt shakes his head slowly as the two of them disappear into the bathroom, and the food actually arrives before Finn and Puck reappear. Kurt shakes his head again as they sit back down. “Better?” he asks, somewhat rhetorically, since Finn seems calmer. Finn nods. 

Puck nods too, picking up his fork and taking a few bites before drinking some of his coffee and looking between Finn and Kurt. “My theory is, you like what you like, screw labels, do what feels good and makes you happy,” he says. “So the questions is sort of… what makes everyone feel good? And happy?” 

“That’s your only criteria?” Kurt asks skeptically. 

Puck grins. “It covers more than you’d think. _Personally_ , I think we could all have some fun.” 

“I suppose under those parameters, I… would have to agree,” Kurt says, speaking slowly. “Finn?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know about the whole labels thing,” Finn says. “Like I told Puck, a week ago, there were zero dudes, and now there’s two dudes, and that’s kinda weird for me.”

“And one girl you need to break up with, regardless,” Kurt points out. “I think Puck… ugh, this is the third or fourth time I’m having to say this. Puck may be right, that labels may not be the most important thing at this moment. What do you think about the other part of what Puck said?”

“Well, it does feel good,” Finn says. “Like, _really_ good.”

“Does it make you happy?” Puck asks. 

Finn nods slowly. “And confused.”

“What part’s confusing?” Kurt asks, trying to sound more gentle than interrogative. “Just that there’s two of us? Or that we’re all guys? Or something else?” 

“Kinda all of that,” Finn says. “And how we’re having this conversation with you, but so far all we’ve all really done together is listen to each other.”

“But it’s hot,” Kurt says consideringly, and then shakes his head with a grimace when he realizes that Puck just said the same thing. 

“Well, yeah, but lots of stuff is hot,” Finn says. “Porn can be hot, but I don’t have to have a conversation with it about our relationship, you know?”

“So you’d rather not have a conversation?” Kurt says with a resigned sigh. 

“No! That’s not— I didn’t— I just meant—” Finn huffs out a long frustrated-sounding breath. “I just think there should be touching, too!”

Puck laughs. “That’s kind of a roundabout way of saying that, dude.” 

“So you want there to be touching before there’s a conversation?” Kurt asks. “I’m confused.” 

“No, I just want to know if that’s maybe what people want,” Finn says.

“I thought that part was assumed,” Kurt admits. 

“Yeah, you know me, always turning down people touching me,” Puck says with a smirk. 

“I guess I just… I want to be more than just porn for somebody,” Finn says, getting mumbly by the end as he turns his face away. 

“I… never really considered that someone could be,” Kurt admits, making a slight face and eating more of his omelet. 

“Don’t have conversations with porn, either,” Puck says. 

Finn puts his head down on the table, narrowly missing his plate. “I don’t know why I even try to talk.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Kurt says. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m so bad at explaining stuff!” Finn says, putting his arm across his face. His elbow _does_ hit his plate, and it gets syrup on it. 

Puck leans over, wiping the syrup off Finn’s elbow and then licks his thumb and runs it over where the syrup was. “That should be weird,” Kurt mutters to himself, “but somehow it isn’t.”

“What?” Puck says, looking utterly confused, and Kurt realizes that Puck may not have consciously decided to lean over and clean Finn off. 

“Nothing,” Kurt says dismissively. “Can you try, Finn? I’m just not sure what you’re trying to tell us.” 

Finn takes a deep breath and sighs rather dramatically before his nods, face still pressed to the table. “I just want to be more than something you use to get off. Either of you.”

“Okay,” Kurt says slowly. “I don’t think that’s something that would have occurred to me,” he admits. “It’s not something that I would be particularly interested in, either.” 

“So you’re saying you only want this if it’s a relationship and not fuck buddies?” Puck asks. 

“I’m just saying that I only want this if… I don’t know. If it at least means something,” Finn says.

“Hey, ‘relationship’ means something,” Puck says. 

“I don’t know what it would look like otherwise?” Kurt admits. 

“Okay,” Finn says, raising his head from the table. “So, does this mean we can skip school and go home and not just listen?”

Kurt laughs. “If my dad ever figures out that I’ve spent the last week lying about Karofsky and then skipping school…” he shakes his head. “But that might be best. It’s already nearly the end of first period.” 

“Cool,” Puck says. “I think skipping school is an awesome idea.” 

"If Burt catches us, we can say we all got food poisoning from sharing pancakes at IHOP," Finn says.

“Poor IHOP, taking all the blame,” Puck says, not sounding very sorry at all. 

“He’d probably believe it,” Kurt says. “Or at least choose not to investigate further.” He stands up and looks around the restaurant. “Let’s go, then.” 

 

Despite listening being hot, and despite their discussion in the restaurant about not just touching, the three of them end up sitting on Kurt’s bed, still fully dressed. “Maybe we need, like, mood music,” Puck suggests. 

“What, precisely, gets either of you in the mood?” Kurt asks. 

"Uh, Puck touching me," Finn says. "Sometimes the music from the video game is still on."

“I don’t think Kurt’s going to want video game music,” Puck says regretfully. “And anyway, he likes being talked to, too.” 

“Hmm, yes,” Kurt says. “I had noticed something like that.” 

"It's nice," Finn says defensively.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Puck says, sliding behind Finn and putting one hand on Kurt’s back. “Just informing.” 

“And how precisely did all of this start for the two of you?” Kurt says, looking behind him enough to raise his eyebrows at both of them. 

“Other than wrestling?” Puck jokes. 

"I kinda, uh. I kinda got— do I really have to say it?" Finn asks. "It's weird to say it."

“I had gathered that. I meant the part I missed,” Kurt says. “Which would be… between leaving the kitchen and about five to ten minutes later.” 

Puck laughs. “Yeah, I bet it was.” 

"He followed me upstairs. I was freaking out and told him to go, but instead of going he just sort of put his hand on me," Finn says. "And he said it was okay and it was going to be awesome, and it was."

“I totally asked if my hand was okay where it was,” Puck says, grinning. “He didn’t have any complaints about that.”

“And then you decided to reciprocate?” Kurt says. 

"Well, he kind of took my hand in his free hand and put it on his dick," Finn says. "But it wasn't bad or weird, so, you know, I figured if he wanted to make me feel good, I wanted to make him feel good, too."

“Well, there’s at least more than enough hands,” Kurt says, a little wryly. “I suppose we should consider having less clothing on, though.” Even though he changed in front of them that morning, Kurt feels a little self-conscious about that, and he frowns. “Or looser clothing.” 

"Okay," Finn says, his face reddening. 

“I’m good with that,” Puck says, and his hand leaves Kurt’s back. Kurt turns to look, then he feels himself blushing, because Puck quickly strips off his clothes and then settles back into the same position, just completely naked. 

“Oh, my,” Kurt says. 

“You two can look, you know.” 

Finn turns to look at Puck, his eyes traveling down Puck's chest, his blush deepening as he goes. "I've seen you naked before," Finn says. "Not like this, though."

“And touch,” Puck amends, nodding a little at Finn’s statement. 

“I found it somewhat impossible to avoid seeing some things during my brief stint on the football team,” Kurt says, feeling his blush deepen as he looks at Puck. “Now that I think about it, you never were particularly concerned about being looked at.” 

Puck shrugs. “I’m hot. I’m not going to deny anyone the pleasure of looking, most of the time. You two going to get undressed?”

“I guess I have to, if you did, right?” Finn says. 

“No one _has_ to do anything,” Puck says. “It’d be cool, though.” 

“I suppose I did at least change clothes in front of the two of you already,” Kurt concedes, slowly removing his sweater. 

“Can I just start with my shirt?” Finn asks. 

“Sure.” Puck shifts again on the bed. “You want some help with it?” Finn nods faintly. Puck puts his hands under Finn’s shirt and slides it up slowly. “Lift your arms.” Finn lifts his arms obediently. Puck laughs for a few seconds and pulls Finn’s shirt off, tossing it in the floor. “Can we touch you now?”

Finn nods. “If you want.”

Puck puts one hand on Finn’s chest, running it slowly down, and Kurt bites his lip briefly before copying Puck’s movement, Finn’s skin warm underneath his fingertips. “Okay?” Kurt asks softly. 

“Yeah, it’s good,” Finn says. 

“Better than tickling?” Kurt asks, almost sheepishly, and Puck laughs. 

“Well, yeah,” Finn says. 

Puck leans in, whispering something in Finn’s ear, and his other hand moves across Kurt’s shoulder blades. Finn smiles and nods, reaching out to run his fingers down Kurt’s arm. Puck grins at that, looking between Finn and Kurt. 

“Maybe you two could at least, I don’t know, _unzip_ your pants?” 

“Do you really think that’s going to make much difference for me?” Kurt asks. “They’re not exactly loose.” 

“You should probably take them off,” Finn blurts, then looks surprised at himself. “I mean, if you wanted to!”

“You think so?” Kurt says, smiling a little as he slowly unzips his pants. “Maybe you should, too.” 

“Makes things easier,” Puck agrees, sliding one hand down Kurt’s back and his other hand to Finn’s waist. 

“Oh. Okay.” Finn unfastens his jeans and rises up on his knees, pushing the jeans down. He sits on the bed again and pulls his jeans off the rest of the way, pushing them to the side. 

“Oh, are we leaving underwear on?” Kurt asks as he wriggles out of his pants. 

“I didn’t have any on to start with,” Puck says. “So I’m definitely not leaving any on.” 

“Uh. I guess not?” Finn says, looking down at his very plain white boxers, which Kurt privately suspects are either starched or ironed. 

“I’m sure that one or both of us could help,” Kurt says, feeling himself blush a little. 

“Oh! Okay,” Finn says, his face reddening, too. 

“You want us to help you, and then we can help Kurt out?” Puck says. Finn nods silently. Puck nods his head towards Finn, and Kurt moves his hand down to Finn’s waist, mirroring Puck’s hand position. The two of them grasp the waistband of Finn’s boxers, slowly moving it down until Finn raises his hips and they can slide the boxers down further. 

“Oh,” Kurt says quietly, his eyes darting back and forth between Puck and Finn rapidly. “That’s, um. You’re both—” 

“Nice and hard?” Puck supplies, smirking. “Should we help Kurt out now, Finn?” 

“If he wants us to. You want us to?” Finn asks, addressing Kurt. “And what kind of underwear are those? I’ve never seen that kind before.”

Kurt nods, his cheeks heating up. “Internet,” he says. “I bought them online.” 

“Gay underwear,” Puck says. “Is it the kind that’s supposed to make your junk look bigger?” 

“No!” Kurt says, shaking his head as Puck puts his hand on Kurt’s back at his waistband. 

“Are they expensive? They look really expensive.” Finn reaches for Kurt, running his hand down Kurt’s hip. “They feel expensive, too.”

“I get them on sale,” Kurt insists. 

“I think they are the kind for his junk,” Puck whispers loudly in Finn’s ear. 

“I think you’re right,” Finn whispers back. “I think it works, too.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt says. 

“Only one way to find out,” Puck says cheerfully, putting his fingers under Kurt’s waistband. “Right?” 

“Sure,” Finn says, slipping his fingers under the other side of Kurt’s waistband. Kurt lifts his hips, and the two of them slide his underwear down and off. 

“Maybe not,” Puck says with a smirk.

“Oh my god you are awful,” Kurt says, and he suspects his face and his chest are both bright red. 

“Oh,” Finn says softly. “Cool.”

“Definitely,” Puck agrees, and he puts one hand on each of them. “Awesome, even.”

Kurt hears a noise that he realizes a second later is himself, squeaking, and he bites his bottom lip. “Oh!” 

“It’s really cool, right?” Finn says to him. 

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees, nodding and turning just enough that he can put one hand on each of their upper thighs. “I never really thought about Puck’s hands before.” 

“I have awesome hands,” Puck says, grinning and moving his hands very slowly.

“Yeah, they’re kinda smaller than you’d think, but they’re,” Finn says. “He moves them just the right way.”

“Almost delicate,” Kurt says, giving Puck a sidelong glance, but Puck doesn’t seem perturbed by the description, just keeps moving his hands slowly, and Kurt lets his hand move in tandem, up Finn and Puck’s thighs. “Is this good?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Do what feels right to you,” Puck says. 

“Can I touch somebody? Who do I get to touch?” Finn asks. 

“Either of us, both of us,” Puck says with a little shrug. “What do you _want_ to do?”

Finn wraps his hand around Puck in a way that looks familiar, like he knows exactly how to touch Puck. He reaches out with his other hand more tentatively, putting it on top of Puck’s hand that’s on Kurt. “Is this cool?”

Kurt nods, feeling slightly overwhelmed, though in a good way. “Yes. That’s cool,” he says slowly, nodding a second time. 

“I could blow one of you,” Puck offers casually, and Kurt isn’t sure if he’s trying to get a reaction or not. Finn looks a little puzzled, almost sad.

“You never offered to do that before,” Finn says. “Is it because of Kurt?”

“I just figured it was clearer I wasn’t expecting one in return, this way,” Puck says. “Didn’t say either of you had to blow me.” 

Kurt nudges Finn gently, then runs his thumb over Finn’s skin on his leg. “You can tell him, if you want him to.” 

“I’d really like that,” Finn says. “I want that.”

“Yeah? What was that?” Puck says in a teasing tone. “You want what?” 

Finn’s face gets redder. “I want you to do what you said you’d do.”

“What did I say I’d do?” Puck says, and he moves his hand away from Finn. “Say it.” 

Finn turns redder still. “I want you to blow me,” he says. “I really want that.”

Puck grins. “Okay. You going to make sure Kurt doesn’t feel neglected while I do that for you?” He changes position, putting both of his hands on Finn’s thighs. Finn nods, his fingers curling around Kurt’s dick, and beginning to jerk Kurt off more gently than he would have expected. 

Kurt can hear his breathing get a little more rapid, and he moves his hands, putting one on Finn’s shoulder and the other on Puck’s back as Puck leans over. Kurt looks from Finn’s hand to Puck’s mouth repeatedly, focusing on how Finn’s hand moves and how Puck licks the skin next to Finn’s dick before slowly taking it in his mouth. Finn immediately starts making gaspy ‘Oh’ noises, his hand barely tightening on Kurt’s dick as it keeps moving. 

Puck looks like he might be smirking, even though Kurt wouldn’t have imagined that smirking was possible while giving a blow job, and Kurt can see Puck’s hands flexing on Finn’s thighs. Kurt’s own fingers dig into Finn’s shoulder a little, and he moves closer to Finn before slowly letting his hands move up into Finn’s hair and over Puck’s head. 

“Ohhhh shit, Puck,” Finn whispers. “Oh shit.”

“He talked to you a lot, right?” Kurt asks. “Maybe you should talk to him.” Puck’s head bobs a little, like a nod, though Kurt isn’t sure if it is or not. 

“I don’t— I don’t know what to say,” Finn says. “It feels too good to think.”

“Tell him that,” Kurt says. “Your hand feels so good, too.” 

“Puck,” Finn says quietly. His free hand rests on the back of Puck’s head. “I want to talk to you, but that feels so good. It feels too good for me to be able to think of what to say. It just feels so awesome.”

Puck seems to move a little faster, one of his hands wrapping around the bottom of Finn’s dick, and Kurt smiles slightly, moving his hand near Finn’s on Puck’s head. “Can… can I kiss you?” Kurt asks Finn quietly. 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “That would be good, too.” 

“I haven’t really kissed anyone,” Kurt says. “Not anyone I wanted to kiss.” 

“I’m sorry. We should’ve done that first,” Finn says.

Kurt shrugs a little, moving his fingers through Finn’s hair and tilting Finn’s head towards him, closing almost all of the distance between them before pausing. “Okay?” he whispers. 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Yeah, you should kiss me.”

Kurt nods minutely and then presses his lips to Finn’s softly. He kisses Finn with his mouth closed for a few seconds, then starts to part his lips. Finn leans into the kiss, his tongue flickering into Kurt’s mouth briefly, followed by a soft moan. Kurt can feel his fingers tightening in Finn’s hair, and he deepens the kiss as his other hand moves with Puck’s head. 

Finn gasps into Kurt’s mouth, kissing him harder, and Kurt can feel Puck’s head bobbing faster. Finn’s gasps turn into whimpers, then into soft cries, his body trembling as he comes in Puck’s mouth. Kurt keeps kissing him until Finn is still and Puck’s head stops moving, and then Kurt pulls away, nodding his head towards Puck. Finn leans forward and kisses Puck, pulling Puck closer with a hand on the back of his neck. 

Kurt watches the two of them kissing, then tentatively reaches out, curling his fingers around Puck’s dick as he keeps moving into Finn’s hand. Finn starts kissing Puck’s neck and shoulders, repositioning himself to continue kissing down Puck’s chest. When Finn reaches Kurt’s hand, he looks over at Kurt, then up at Puck.

“Can I do it back?” Finn asks. 

“Do you _want_ to?” Puck asks. “You don’t have to.” 

“I really want to,” Finn says. “Like _really_ -really.”

“Yeah? You want to blow me?” When Finn nods, Puck grins. “Tell me.” 

“I want to blow you,” Finn says, his smile almost shy-looking. “I _really_ want to blow you, and you can do something nice for Kurt while I’m blowing you.”

Puck’s grin gets wider, and he nods. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” He turns to Kurt, still grinning. “Want me to blow _you_?” 

Kurt bites his lip and nods, holding still as Puck repositions himself. Finn’s lips kiss across Kurt’s fingers before moving to the tip of Puck’s dick. Kurt moves his hand, trailing his fingers over Finn’s cheek and then up Puck’s chest before running them over the shaved part of Puck’s head. 

“I think he likes it when we touch his head,” Kurt says. “I think he likes you down there, too.” 

Finn seems to nod his agreement, and makes a sound that might be a hummed ‘uh huh’. Puck laughs for a brief moment and nods twice before he slides his lips over Kurt’s dick, and Kurt stiffens in an attempt not to thrust up hard into Puck’s mouth. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Kurt says with a gasp. “Why did I not find someone else to do this to me before now?” That seems to amuse Puck, who laughs silently around Kurt’s dick, and Kurt grabs at Puck’s mohawk with his hands. Kurt can see Finn’s head moving steadily, and Kurt wonders how Finn lasted as long as he did with Puck’s mouth on him, because he feels like he could come at any second. Kurt keeps moving his fingers in Puck’s mohawk, his thumbs running over the shaved parts of Puck’s head, and his hips jerk up twice in spite of his best efforts. 

“Not going to— soon—,” Kurt says, and one of Puck’s hands comes up in a brief thumbs up. Kurt bites down on his lip as Puck’s head moves faster, and then he lets go, coming in Puck’s mouth with a louder cry than he intends. Puck keeps moving his mouth and tongue until Kurt is completely still, then slowly moves, keeping his lower half mostly still. 

“Good?” he says to Kurt, who nods, still feeling a little boneless. Then Puck looks down at Finn, almost petting his head. “Yeah, that’s good, Finn, so good.” 

Finn hums the ‘uh huh’ sound again, both of his hands moving to Puck’s hips. Puck grins at Kurt, motioning him to lean over, and Puck puts one of his hands over Finn’s, kissing Kurt before speaking again. 

“I’m going to come in your mouth,” Puck warns. “You have to stop now if you don’t want that.” 

Finn shakes his head slightly, hands visibly tightening on Puck’s hips as he bobs his head even faster. Puck grins and nods a little, pulling Kurt into another kiss and pushing his tongue deep into Kurt’s mouth. After a moment, Puck tenses, then keeps kissing Kurt as he comes. He pulls away slowly, his grin lazy. 

“You didn’t practice that, did you?” he asks Finn. 

Finn’s face falls into a confused frown. “Who would I have practiced it on?”

“I’m kidding,” Puck says. “Just thought I’d check.” 

“I think he meant you did well for a beginner,” Kurt says, lying back. “I don’t think he is a beginner.” 

“No, he’s not a beginner,” Finn agrees. “He’s awesome.”

“Yeah, you two were awesome, too,” Puck says. “Just think about practicing.” 

Kurt holds back a laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“This is all still kinda weird,” Finn declares. “I mean, it’s awesome, and I like it, but it’s still kinda weird.”

“Anything that would make it less weird?” Puck asks. 

“Break up with Quinn,” Kurt sing-songs. “Then _I_ will feel less weird.” 

“Yeah, ’cause then you’ll just have Puck left, because I’m gonna be dead,” Finn says. “I don’t even think she’d care, except it’s me breaking up with her, not the other way around.”

“Just send her a text,” Puck says. “And lock the doors. You want me to make sure things are cool with Lauren?” 

“It would probably be nice of you, yes,” Kurt says. Puck shrugs and leans off the bed, sitting up with his phone. He starts to type before Kurt interrupts him. “At least _call_ her!” 

“Fine, fine,” Puck says, obviously changing to call her, but he puts the phone on speaker as it rings.

Lauren answers with a sharp, “What do you want, Puckerman?”

“Hey, Lauren,” Puck says, seemingly unperturbed by her tone. “Just to be clear, we aren’t, you know, exclusive, right?” 

“Uh, yeah, I never thought we _were_ ,” Lauren says. “Is Hudson there with you?”

Finn presses his lips together tightly and shakes his head rapidly. “Yeah, okay, good,” Puck says. “And uh, I plead the fifth. Or the fourth, I can’t remember which one it is.” 

“Whatever. Can you tell him that I have Quinn here with me, and she wants me to tell you to tell him that she and Finn are over?” Lauren says. 

Puck gives Finn a thumbs up. “Uh, okay?” Puck says. “Is this the mail relay service?”

“She was going to do it herself, but his sorry ass never showed up for class today,” Lauren says, “so if you see him, make sure he knows that he’s been a single man since—” She pauses for a moment. “Eight-fifteen, according to my watch.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Puck says, giving Finn another thumbs up. “Probably not one hundred percent accurate, but cool. Have fun.” 

“Sure thing,” Lauren says, and the call disconnects. 

“Well, that was easy, at least,” Finn says. 

Puck laughs. “Yeah. Okay, so anything _else_ that would make it less weird?”

Finn doesn’t answer, but Pavarotti starts chirping and trilling, flying around his cage, and Kurt sighs. “Would one of you let Sir Rottie Bird of Hoffa out of the cage?” 

“Sure,” Puck agrees, climbing out of bed, and after a moment, Pavarotti flies around the three of them on the bed, trilling happily. 

“You know what else is kinda weird?” Finn asks.

“What?” Kurt asks. 

“Sir Bird,” Finn says. “Like, the whole thing with him. He’s like a weird matchmaker bird or something.”

“He does seem rather pleased with himself,” Kurt admits, watching Pavarotti fly around. “I just thought it was because he wasn’t cooped up in that cage anymore.”

“Yeah, but he likes us,” Puck says, sounding irrationally pleased by the fact that a canary likes him. “We give him something interesting to think about.” 

“He likes us ’cause we helped him and Kurt out,” Finn says. “They needed to be free. Warbler Academy is dumb.”

Kurt laughs a little. “I suppose that’s true. It wasn’t a good fit for either of us.” 

“I’ll take Rottie bowling, but that’s my limit,” Puck says. “He needs to find his own special bird-friend.” 

“We can look online for bird-friends later today,” Finn says. “But not right now, because right now we’re naked, and Googling bird stuff when I’m naked is _definitely_ weird.”

“That would be odd,” Kurt agrees. “There are other things we can do, but at least we know weird doesn’t have to mean bad.” 

“Weird is good,” Puck says. “This is good. And even Rottie is good.” Pavarotti lands on the vanity and trills, staring at the three of them. “Yeah, you.” 

Pavarotti chirps three times, then trills, and overall, Kurt has to acknowledge that as Pavarotti gazes at them, he looks incredibly smug.


End file.
